THE 

SENATOR'S   SON', 


OB, 


THE  MAINE  LAW; 


A  LAST  REFUGE; 


A    STORY    DEDICATED 


THE  LAW-MAKERS. 


BY 

METTA    VICTORIA    FULLER, 


THIRD      EDITION, 


CLEVELAND,    0. 

TOOKER    AND    GATCIIEL, 

1853. 


>  4    ]    >  >    ' 


D--' 


a 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  Eighteen 
Hundi'ed  and  Fifty-three, 

By    TOOKER    &    GATCHEL, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 
for  the  District  of  Ohio. 


HARRIS,    J  AiaiJANKS  A     ^C)., 


WILLIAM  H.  SHAI.V, 
HUDSON  Sl'EREOTFPE  FOUNDRT.  PRINTER?,    CI.K\  EI.AND. 


/    /A/^ 


"  Does  our  political  party  stand  on  rum  ?  If  so,  let  us  be 
ashamed  of  it  and  quit  it.  But  let  us  take  heed  lest  our  political 
party  is  soon  in  the  minority,  from  its  adherence  to  rum,  for  it 
surely  will  be.  Degeneracy  and  subserviency  to  wickedness  and 
debasement  is  not  the  spirit  of  the  age.  God  will  overturn,  and 
ovBrturn,  and  overtm'n,  until  temperance  and  truth  are  triumph- 
ant." 


PM5528 


« 


PREFACE 


It  may  perhaps  be  expected  that  a  few  explanations 
should  be  given  for  the  publication  of  a  new  work  of  fic- 
tion. My  attention  was  particularly  called,  during  the  past 
summer,  to  the  fact  that,  in  many  States,  there  existed  a 
strong  feeling  in  favor  of  the  general  adoption  of  the  Maine 
Liquor  Law,  as  it  is  called ;  but  so  many  of  past  usages 
and  modes  of  thinking  prevailed,  that  philanthropists  have 
been  unable,  except  in  a  few  instances,  to  carry  into  effect 
an  Act  that  must  so  clearly  benefit  all  classes  of  society. 
The  thought  suggested  itself,  that  if  a  new  work  could  be 
written  on  this  subject,  sufficiently  interesting  to  attract 
anything  like  general  attention,  it  might  perhaps  turn  the 
scale,  now  so  nearly  balanced,  in  favor  of  this  noble  end. 

To  do  this  successfully,  one  would  be  obliged  to  go 
out  of  the  ordinary  manner  of  treating  the  subject  of 
Temperance.  For  long  years,  the  most  vivid  descrip- 
tions have  been  given  of  the  terrible  sufferings  and  aw- 
ful wi-etchedness  that  await  the  victim  of  Intemperance. 
Eeason  and  judgment  have  been  appealed  to  in  vain.  Thou- 
sands are  at  this  moment  reeling  towards  a  drunkard's 
grave.  Experience  has  proved  that  in  no  way  can  the  evils 
of  the  heart  or  of  society  be  shown  so  plainly  and  effect- 


Yl  PREFACE. 

ively  as  under  the  garb  of  fiction.  Here,  casting  aside 
the  dull  argument  and  dry  statistics,  the  subject  is  mir- 
rored in  its  natural  beauty  or  deformity,  unobscured 
by  the  mists  of  custom  or  familiarity.  We  look  beneath 
the  smiling  demeanor  of  vice,  on  the  hidden  agony  gnaw- 
ing at  its  heart-strings.  We  gaze  with  rapture  on  the 
pure,  calm  brow  of  virtue,  radiant  with  happiness  amid 
the  clouds  of  adversity  and  the  storms  of  misfortune. 
We  behold  the  first,  the  secret  inducement  to  crime,  and 
shudder  as  we  observe  the  terrible  results  that  must  fol- 
low looming  up,  black  and  threatening,  in  the  dim  and 
distant  future.  We  see  reflected  in  a  new  and  vivid  light 
evils  of  vast  magnitude  and  extent,  that  were  before  trite 
and  commonplace;  and  we  see,  too,  divested  of  all  ex- 
pediency and  sophistry,  the  true  remedy  to  be  applied. 
Hence,  in  all  reforms  this  kind  of  writing  will  be  found 
most  eflPective.  But  it  is  only  when  some  effort  at  human 
improvement  is  robed  in  its  captivating  garb  that  fiction 
should  be  tolerated.  As  in  the  spreading  landscape,  the 
ragged  rocks,  the  majestic  oak  and  the  dark  ravine,  take 
a  firmer  hold  upon  the  mind  than  all  the  gay  colors  of 
field  and  forest,  so  in  this  kind  of  fiction,  while  we  cull 
its  sweets,  and  linger  entranced  over  its  fascinating  pages, 
the  stern  ideas  of  truth  and  right  that  meet  us  at  every 
turn  will  gradually  fasten  upon  our  judgments,  and  linger 
in  our  memories,  long  after  the  sweet  flowers  that  decked 
them  have  faded  and  been  forirotten. 

With  such  a  desire  have  the  following  pages  been  writ- 


PREFACE.  VU 

ten  ;  and  though  I  have  wandered  in  the  luxuriant  fields 
of  the  imagination  to  select  colors  for  my  theme,  yet  my 
aim  has  been  to  draw,  with  stronger  outline  and  deeper 
shading,  the  mournful  ruins  of  humanity,  caused  by  In- 
temperance, and  to  place  them  in  the  foreground  of  the 
picture  ;  and  if  I  should  ever  hear  of  one  soul  saved  by 
its  means  from  the  dark  and  fearful  gloom  that  hangs  for- 
ever over  the  end  of  the  drunkard,  it  would  be  more  than 
payment  for  all  my  labors.  Whether  it  is  ever  destined 
to  accomplish  even  this  much  remains  to  be  seen  ;  but 
its  failure  will  not  alter  my  faith  in  the  ultimate  triumph 
of  the  Maine  Liquor  Law,  through  the  length  and  breadth 
of  our  fair  land. 


THE   SENATOR^S   SON, 
a  Itnrtj, 

DiiDICATED     TO     THE     LAW-MAKERS. 


CHAPTER    I. 


"  Why  do  the  ladies  come  away  from  the  table  first, 
mother?    don't  they  eat  as  much  as  the  gentlemen?" 

"  I  hardly  think  they  do,  Parke/^  replied  the  lady  with 
a  smile :  "  but  the  gentlemen  are  not  eating ;  they  are 
drinking  wine.'^ 

^^  Don't  the  ladies  drink  wine  ?  '^ 
"A  little  sometimes.      But  when  papa  and  his  friends 
have  drank  a  few  glasses,  they  become  very  sociable,  and 
converse  wisely  upon  politics  and  other  subjects  too  abstruse 
for  feminine  ears.'' 

"  I  don't  think  its  very  pretty,'^  responded  the  little 
1 


rl^'i..  THE    senator's    son. 

fellow,  not  fully  comprehending  his  mother's  apologies. 
At  the  same  time  he  made  up  his  mind  to  see  for  himself 
what  there  was  so  fascinating  in  the  dining-room ;  so  steal- 
ing from  her  lap,  in  a  few  moments  his  bright  head  was 
peeping  in  at  the  door,  where,  finding  himself  unobserved, 
he  walked  in  and  hid  behind  his  father's  chair. 

*'  Well !  its  mighty  pleasant  here  anyhow,'^  was  his 
secret  conclusion.  There  was  a  profusion  of  lamp-light, 
making  the  costly  table-service  glitter  and  gleam;  Harry 
and  White,  the  two  black  waiters,  were  busy  uncorking 
dark,  ancient-looking  bottles;  the  cut-glass  decanters  and 
goblets  sparkled  'only  less  than  their  contents.  A  dozen 
gentlemen,  each  smiling,  affable,  and  witty,  were  trifling 
with  some  fruit,  leisurely  picking  out  the  kernels  from  the 
almonds,  and  toying  more  or  less  fondly  with  their  glasses. 
People,  poetry,  and  politics  were  being  discussed ;  old  puns 
and  new  puns  were  received  with  equal  good  humor,  and 
even  some  brilliant  repartee  flashed  across  the  mahogany 
board. 

"  This  wine  is  fit  for  old  Bacchus'  own  use,"  said  one 
of  the  number.  "  I  propose  that  we  drink  the  health  of 
our  host  —  a  long  continuance  of  his  late  success,  and  de- 
feat to  his  enemies :  may  his  brother  senators  receive  hiui 
with  merited  applause,  —  may  his  country  aj^preciate  his 
services,  —  may  his  speeches  be  distinguished  for  their 
brevity  as  well  as  wit,  —  and  may  he  be  spared,  after  a 
successful  session,  to  return  to  the  smiles  of  his  uumer 
ous  triends  and  the  arms  of  his  truly  lovely  family." 


THE   senator's    SON.  8 

The  enthusiasm  with  which  this  toast  was  received  was 
such  that  it  came  near  to  penetrating  the  sacred  precincts 
of  the  parlors.  Their  host  arose  to  make  a  few  remarks , 
partly  referring  to  his  principles  and  party,  but  mostly  per- 
sonal thanks  and  sentiments  of  friendship. 

He  was  a  fine-looking  man,  speaking  with  grace  and  ease. 
His  dark-blue  eye  sparkles  with  wit  and  fire ;  he  had  an 
open,  generous  brow,  beautified  by  masses  of  brown  ringlets, 
and  a  rich,  persuasive  voice.  Upon  this  occasion  he  was 
more  than  usually  animated. 

He  was  giving  a  farewell  dinner  to  a  few  of  his  friends, 
previous  to  his  departure  for  Washington,  whither  the  votes 
of  his  party  had  destined  him ;  in  their  evident  love  and  ad- 
miration was  something  to  arouse  his  sympathies,  and  he 
spoke  with  eloquence. 

The  little  intruder  edges  round  to  the  side  of  the  table, 
regarding  his  father  with  intense  interest.  He  could  not, 
of  course,  understand  much  of  what  he  was  saying,  but  the 
language  of  looks  was  not  lost  upon  him.  He,  as  well  as 
the  older  listeners,  was  charmed  with  the  brilliant  smile  and 
the  graceful  gesture;  as  Mr.  Madison  sat  down,  he  looked 
around  with  a  proud  air,  and  his  rosy  cheek  flushed  as  if  it 
said  — 

"  What  man  is  there  so  wonderful  as  my  papa  ?  " 
A  guest  caught  sight  of  the  triumphant  look,  and  re- 
marked with  a  smile  — 

"  Your  little  son  appears,  like  the  rest  of  us,  very  much 
pleased  with  your  sentiments." 


THE    SENATOR  S    SON. 


The  father's  eye  h'ghted  on  the  eager,  sparkling  face. 

"  Here,  Parke,  my  boy,  is  a  glass  of  wine ;  we  are  going 
to  drink  to  the  memory  of  George  Washington.  You  shall 
have  the  honor  of  proposing  the  words.'' 

The  child  of  four  years  stepped  forward  and  seized  the 
glass.  Holding  it  as  he  had  seen  his  father  do,  he  spoke 
out  boldly,  —  in  his  clear,  baby  voice,  — 

"  To  the  memory  of  George  Washington,  the  Father  of 
his  Country.  First  in  war  —  first  in  peace  —  and  first  in 
the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  I '' 

An  enthusiasm  befitting  an  older  heart  seemed  to  shine 
in  the  eyes  of  the  boy,  who  had  thus  early  caught  his  pa- 
rent's words,  and,  almost,  thoughts.  Every  man  rose  to  his 
feet ;   and  there  was  a  momentary  silence. 

But  a  child's  thoughts  do  not  dwell  long  upon  subjects 
so  profound,  and  he  whispered  in  his  papa's  ear,  as  the  gen- 
tlemen replaced  their  glasses,- 

"    I    like    the  wine  very  much  indeed." 

It  was  meet  that  no  other  name  should  be  crowned  with 
rosy  wine  after  that  of  Washington,  and  the  gentlemen  soon 
joined  their  fairer  companions.  Here,  as  everywhere  else, 
Mr.  Madison  was  the  first  object  of  admiration.  Beautiful  wo- 
men smiled  graciously  at  receiving  his  delicate  and  welcome 
attentions  —  they  looked  for  his  courtly  glance,  and  listened 
for  the  changing  flow  of  his  discourse  —  now  mirthful,  sati- 
rical, pathetic  —  always  that  of  a  man  of  genius,  with  kindly 
sympathies,  and  a  generous  heart.  His  wife,  a  most  lovely 
and  graceful  woman,  moved  quietly  among  her  guests,  with 


THE    SENATOR  S    SON.  »  O 

an  unequaled  tact  and  propriety,  yet  not  the  less  conscious  of 
her  husband's  gifts.  Devotion  and  pride  were  in  her  aspect; 
as  if  not  having  anything  but  love  in  her  own  nature,  she  had 
yet  learned  to  be  proud  of  herself  as  a  part  of  him.  The 
thought  that  to-morrow  they  were  to  be  separated  for  some 
months,  was  more  to  her  than  the  brilliancy  and  triumph  of 
the  occasion ;  and  now  and  then  her  glances  meeting  his 
would  melt  away  into  almost  tears.  Despite  of  this  the  even- 
ing could  not  but  be  very  happy ;  the  lights  were  so  brill- 
iant, the  company  so  pleased,  the  music  so  sweet,  and  Mr. 
Madison  himself,  in  one  of  his  most  fascinating  humors. 

There  was  but  one  fault  to  be  found  with  him  —  he  was 
too  fascinating.  For  the  winning  flash  of  his  eye,  the  quick 
beaming  of  his  smile,  the  glow  of  his  humor,  the  sparkle  of 
his  wit,  had  all  borrowed  a  flame  —  beautiful  but  burning 
—  a  flame  from  the  fire  in  the  wine-cup.  A  suspicion  of 
this  had  not  as  yet  shaded  the  soft  brow  of  the  young  wife, 
turned  so  reverently  up  to  him. 

"  Why,  Parke,  I  thought  Margaret  had  put  you  to  bed, 
long  ago,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice  to  her  little  boy,  as  he 
crept  to  her  side,  while  one  of  the  ladies  was  at  the  piano. 
"  You'll  not  be  awake  in  the  morning  to  bid  papa  good-bye, 
if  you  sit  up  so  long  after  your  bed-time.'^ 

The  boy  looked  at  her  with  eyes  unnaturally  bright. 

"  Hurrah  for  my  papa  Washington!"  he  shouted,  stag- 
gering away   from  his  mother's  caressing  hand,  and   at- 
tempting to  wave  his  little  arm. 
1* 


6  THE    senator's    SON. 

"  Why,  darling,  what  makes  you  so  rude  ? "  she  con 
tinued  walking  after  him  to  take  him  from  the  room. 

"  Hurrah  for  Washington !  he's  the  man  for  senator," 
he  murmured  in  a  lower  tone,  as  he  fell  over  an  ottoman, 
from  whence  he  was  lifted  by  his  astonished  parents. 

''  The  child  is  in  a  fit,"  cried  Mrs.  Madison,  turning 
pale. 

"  A  fit  ?"  said  the  father;  and  he  laughed  gayly.    "  The  ' 
truth  is  we  left  him  in  the  dining-room,  and  he  must  have 
been  drinking  some  private  toasts  in  honor  of  my  departure. 
The  little  rogue !  but  he  did  not  know  any  better," 

The  gentlemen  joined  in  the  laugh,  and  called  him  a 
brave  little  fellow;  but  the  mother,  who  had  summoned 
Margaret  to  carry  him  to  the  nursery,  could  hardly  smile, 
for  poor  Parke's  cheeks  were  already  growing  white. 

She  was  obliged  to  excuse  herself  from  her  friends,  who 
were  already  departing ;  and  for  more  than  half  the  night 
she  had  to  watch  by  the  sick-bed  of  the  young  patriot. 

His  sufierings  at  last  over,  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep  that 
was  not  even  disturbed  by  his  father's  parting  kiss,  three 
hours  after  day-break.  When  he  did  awake,  his  mother  sat 
beside  his  little  cot,  weeping.  The  thought  that  his  party 
had  chosen  her  husband  to  represent  their  principles  at  the 
Capitol,  although  a  proud  one,  could  not  suffice  in  the  mo- 
ment of  parting  to  take  away  its  bitterness.  With  his  last 
kiss  upon  her  lips,and  the  pressure  of  his  hand  yet  thrilling 
her  fingers,  she  stole  to  the  room  of  their  only  child  to 


THE    SENATOR  S    RON.  7 

comfort  herself  with  the  sight  of  his  innocent  face.  And  a 
comfort  it  was  j  for  her  loneliness  began  to  divert  itself 
with  joyful  plans  of  what  she  should  do  for  his  improve- 
ment^ to  surprise  his  father  when  he  came  home. 

He  should  live  mostly  upon  bread  and  milk,  to  keep  his 
eheek  rosy  and  his  complexion  clear ;  he  should  make  as- 
tonishing progress  in  spelling,  and  be  deep  in  primary  geog- 
raph}' ;  and  she  should  embroider  him  the  most  exquisite 
suit  of  clothes  to  wear  in  honor  of  the  absent  one's  return. 
With  innocent  mother-thoughts  like  these,  she  was  beguil- 
ing her  quiet  tears ;  on  and  on  her  fancy  flew  to  times  when 
he  should  be  grown  out  of  his  boj^-jacket,  and  cap  with 
plumes,  and  be  a  man,  beautiful  as  his  father,  and  like  him 
honored  and  beloved.  She  smiled  even  while  she  wept,  and 
Parke  awoke  to  meet  a  kiss  of  yearning  tenderness. 

The  first  day  was  not  passed,  however,  much  to  Parke's 
edification  or  that  of  his  mother.  The  effects  of  last  night's 
disobedience  were  pale  cheeks  and  a  very  fretful  humor. 

The  proposed  bread  and  milk  regimen,  and  a  fine  ride 
the  next  morning  in  the  carriage,  restored  him  to  his  wonted 
excellent  temper. 

As  Mrs.  Madison  was  laying  aside  her  cloak  after  the 
ride,  the  cook  told  her  that  there  was  a  poor  woman  in  the 
kitchen  who  wanted  to  speak  with  her.  Groing  down,  she 
found  a  Mrs.  Burns,  who,  in  former  times,  had  nearly  lived 
upon  her  charity.  But  her  husband,  a  hod-carrier,  and 
dreadfully  intemperate,  had,  for  the  last  few  months,  re- 
formed and  provided  comfortably  for  his  fiimily. 


8  THE    SENATOR  S    SON. 

"  How  is  this^  Mrs.  Burns  ?  you  look  as  if  you  were  in 
trouble  again/'  said  the  senator's  wife^  in  her  winning,  sym- 
pathizing manner. 

The  woman  glanced  at  her  almost  fiercely  from  the  cor- 
ner by  the  range,  where  she  was  standing,  for  she  would 
not  sit. 

^'  Trouble !  you  may  well  call  it  trouble,"  she  said 
briefly. 

"  Is  your  husband  drinking  again  ?  " 

"  Aye  !  worse  than,  ever." 

^'  What  a  pity  —  what  a  great  pity  I " 

*'  Yes !  its  a  pity  for  him,  and  a  pity  for  me,  and  a  pity 
for  the  children ;  but  its  a  pity,  too,  for  them  as  has  the 
blame  of  it  —  a  pity  and  a  shame  ! " 

"  Has  any  one  the  blame  of  his  eyil  conduct,  except 
himself  ?  ''  asked  Mrs.  Madison  gently,  for  she  saw  that  her 
visitor  was  much  excited. 

''  There  are  those,  ma'am,  whom  God  will  not  hold 
guiltless  at  the  judgment-day.  Fine  gentlemen  they  are 
too,  and  fine  speeches  they  can  make  about  their  principles ; 
and  your  husband,  one  of  them  —  he's  one  of  them  as  has 
the  faults  of  my  poor  man  on  his  head." 

"  Hush,  Mrs.  Burns,"  said  the  lady,  while  the  roses 
flushed  out  into  her  face,  "  you  must  not  speak  so  in  my 
presence." 

"  But  I  will  speak  so,  ma'am,  for  I  came  here  to  tell 
you  the  truth.  You  are  an  angel,  almost,  I  know;  and 
have  been  good  to  me  and  mine ;    but  that  doesn't  signify 


THE   senator's   SON.  9 

but  that  you  are  too  good  for  him.  There's  no  kinder  man 
than  mine  when  he's  sober;  and  not  a  drop  of  liquor  did  he 
taste  since  last  March,  until  'lection  day.  He  earned  his 
dollar  a  day,  and  brought  it  home  at  night ;  the  children 
had  shoes  and  decent  clothes,  and  Tom  went  to  school;  and 
you  couldn't  find  a  woman  with  a  happier  heart  than  mine. 
But  election  times  must  come,  and  my  husband  must  have 
his  say  with  the  rest,  and  as  he  walks  along  the  street  to- 
wards the  polls,  Mr.  Madison  comes  up  and  shakes  hands, 
with  his  sweet  smile,  and  says,  '  Who  are  you  going  to  sup- 
port to-day,  Mr.  Burns  V  So  my  husband  tells  him,  and 
he  says,  '  You'll  make  a  great  mistake  if  you  do  that.  Their 
party  don't  care  any  more  for  you  or  any  other  honest  work- 
ing man,  than  just  to  get  your  vote,  and  when  they've  got 
it,  and  got  the  power,  they'll  use  it  against  you,  and  wages 
will  come  down,  and  the  poor'U  suffer,'  or  some  other  such 
kind  of  speeches.  *  I  don't  believe  it,  Mr.  Madison,'  says 
my  husband.  ^  Well,  just  step  in  and  take  a  glass  of  some 
thing  to  make  you  more  reasonable,  and  we'll  talk  it  over, 
says  Mr.  Madison.  '  I'm  obliged  to  you,  but  I  don't  drink 
anything  now,'  says  Tom.  ^  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,'  says  your 
fine  gentleman,  '  but  just  take  a  little  to-day  —  it'll  help  you 
see  clearer  which  of  us  is  in  the  right.'  The  pleasant  smiles 
and  the  fine  words  were  more  than  he  could  resist,  and  he 
went  in,  and  your  husband  treated  him,  and  got  his  vote, 
and  he  came  home  drunk  that  night,  and  he's  been  drunk 
ever  since.  Not  a  day's  work  has  he  done — the  little 
silver  there  was  laid  by  has  gone  —  the  children  are  cold, 


10  THE   senator's   SON. 

and  there  is  no  fire ;  and  he's  warming  himself  by  the  bar- 
room fire,  that's  only  better  than  the  flames  below/' 

She  paused  and  stood  looking  gloomily  into  the  range. 
Mrs.  Madison  could  not  say  a  word ;  in  her  heart  she  con- 
fessed the  wrongs  of  the  drunkard's  wife,  and  was  ready  to 
shed  tears  over  the  thoughtless  conduct  of  her  own  proud 
husband. 

"  He  was  carried  away  by  the  excitement  of  the  occa- 
sion," she  said  to  herself;  "he  forgot  into  what  temptation 
he  was  leading  this  poor  man,"  —  but  all  sophistry  of 
affection  could  not  entirely  excuse  his  selfish  eagerness  for 
the  triumph  of  his  party.  "  This  must  be  the  wrongs  of 
suffrage  instead  of  the  rights,"  continued  her  thoughts. 
''  Facts  like  these  cry  shame  upon  politicians  —  facts  like 
these  are  soils  upon  the  beautiful  garments  of  Liberty  ! " 

Mrs.  Burns  turned  her  face  again  towards  the  lady,  it 
was  a  face  that  seemed  to  have  been  gentle  and  pretty  enough 
once ;  now  it  looked  cold  and  hard  as  stone. 

"  I  am  going  to  out  with  the  worst,  Mrs.  Madison. 
Little  Ann  is  dead." 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Burns  !  what  was  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  died,"  said  the  woman,  in  a  voice  made  harsh 
by  repressed  emotions ;  "  she  died  because  somebody  wanted 
her  father's  vote,  and  made  him  drunk.  He  must  needs 
drink  more  and  more,  and  grow  worse  and  worse  —  Burns 
is  a  devil  when  he's  drunk,  peaceful  as  he  is  when  he  lets 
liquor  alone  —  until  he  must  go  to  abusing  the  young  ones, 
and  getting  mad  at  me;    and  becaiise  I  tried  to  keep  his 


THE    senator's    SON.  11 

hands  off  tlio  little  girl  —  slie  was  a  delicate  thing  3^ou  know, 
and  only  two  years  old  —  oli !  how  I  prayed  to  him  upon 
my  knees  to  let  her  alone  !  —  he  catched  her  away  from  me 
and  shook  her  fiiriousl}',  dashed  her  down  over  a  chair,  and 
went  out  the  door  with  an  oath.  AYhen  I  picked  her  up,  I 
thought  she  was  dead.  But  after  awhile  she  hegan  to 
moan,  and  every  time  she  was  stirred  she  shrieked  —  I 
think  that  her  back  was  broke  —  and  so  she  laid  in  my 
arms  that  night  and  the  next  day,  and  last  night  she  died." 

Her  listener  had  sank  half-fainting  into  a  chair,  with  the 
tears  rolling  rapidly  down  her  colorless  cheeks. 

^'  Fve  n(5t  shed  a  tear  yet,"  continued  her  visitor,  in 
the  same  constrained  voice.  "■  But  Fve  had  some  awful 
thoughts.  As  I  sat  there  so  many  hours,  holding  my  poor 
darling,  looking  into  her  white  face,  with  the  black  circles 
of  pain  around  the  eyes,  and  listening  to  her  moans,  I 
thought  of  your  little  boy,  so  rosy  and  so  bright,  and  I 
came  near  cursing  him  for  his  father's  fault." 

^^  Oh,  don't  speak  so,  Mrs.  Burns!"  Mrs.  Madison 
held  up  her  hands  appealingly,  while  a  shudder  went 
through  her  soul  at  the  sudden  thought  of  her  beautiful 
child  with  a  curse  upon  his  innocent  head.  ^'  No  one  can 
wish  any  ill  t©  liim^^  she  said  half-aloud. 

^'  No  !  no  one  can  wish  any  ill  to  him,  for  his  mother's 
sake,"  said  the  woman,  catching  at  her  words.  "  But  Tm 
afraid  it'll  come  without  anybody's  wishing.  ^  The  sins 
of  the  fathers  are  visited  upon  the  children.'  " 

^^  Shall  I  go  home%ith  you,  and  do  what  I  can  for  porr 
Annie?" 


12  THE   senator's   SOX. 

^^  If  you  will,  ma'am ;  its  little  can  be  done  for  her 
now." 

The  carriage  was  still  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Madison 
told  the  driver  to  come  around  with  it  to  Mrs.  Burns',  in 
half  an  hour ;  and  the  two  mothers  wended  their  way  down 
the  narrow  alley  leading  to  the  desolate  home  of  one  of 
them. 

The  senator's  wife  was  a  lady  of  delicate  nerves ;  but 
her  nerves  and  her  antipathies  were  under  the  firm  control 
of  her  reason  and  benevolence.  Her  large  charities  had 
made  her  familiar  with  the  houses  of  the  poor;  but  her 
Iieart  sank  as  she  stepped  over  the  threshold  of  this  dwel- 
ling. A  feeling  that  she  herself  was  not  wholly  guiltless 
of  the  wretchedness  which  met  her  eye,  could  not  be  shaken 
off.  A  moment  she  stood  silent,  looking  at  the  two  shiver- 
ing children  crouched  by  the  fireless  hearth,  at  the  empty 
cupboard,  the  broken  windows,  and,  lastly,  at  the  bed  — 
where  laid  the  corpse  of  the  murdered  chili.  Approaching, 
she  turned  back  the  sheet,  and  gazed  at  its  little,  quiet  face, 
which  she  last  remembered  so  pretty,  blooming,  and  fair. 

It  was  too  much  for  her  mother's  heart.  The  miserable 
father  —  the  mother  who  could  not  shed  a  tear  —  the  inno- 
cent infant  released  from  a  world  too  harsh  for  its  gentle 
endurance  —  the  want  —  the  wrong — the  wo  —  came  over 
her  soul  like  a  rushing  cloud,  and,  sinking  beside  the  bed, 
she  sobbed  aloud.  Her  weeping  was  contagious.  It  melted 
the  icy  grief  of  the  mourner  down  to  the  level  of  natural 
expression;   she  threw  herself  upon  the  couch  with   cries 


THE   senator's   SON.  13 

and  tears,  kissing  the  cold  hands  of  her  darling,  touching 
her  flaxen  curls,  calling  her,  in  accents  of  moving  pathos, 
"Annie! Annie  !" 

The  two  boys,  frightened  and  cold,  drew  closer  together, 
looking  on  with  wondering  eyes.  The  carriage  came  to  the 
door,  and  Mrs.  Madison,  controling  her  emotion,  whispered, 

"  It  will  do  you  good  to  cry,  I  am  glad  that  you  can. 
T  will  go  now  and  do  what  is  necessary  to  be  done,  and  then 
return."  Food  and  fuel  came  in  due  time;  lastly,  a  little 
coffin.  With  her  own  fair  hands  the  lady  kindled  a  fire 
upon  the  hearth,  washed  the  faces  of  the  children,  brushed 
their  hair,  and  helped  them  plentifully  to  the  contents  of  a 
basket  which  had  been  well  stored  from  her  own  pantry. 
Then  she  aroused  their  mother  from  her  stupor  of  exhaus- 
tion ;  made  her  eat,  drink  a  cup  of  tea,  and  warm  herself. 

Tenderly  she  placed  the  pretty  Annie  in  her  coffin, 
decked  out  in  one  of  Parke's  nicest  baby-gowns,  with  some 
pale  buds  in  her  little  hands  gathered  from  the  conservatory. 
The  boys  were  told  to  kiss  their  dear  sister  for  the  last  time 
before  the  coffin-lid  was  fastened  down ;  then  all  got  into 
the  carriage  and  followed  the  hearse  to  the  cemetery.  All 
was  well  and  quietly  done.  The  grave  was  hollowed  in  a 
pleasant  place,  where  roses  would  bloom  in  summer ;  now 
the  wind  blew  drearily,  and  scattered  flakes  of  snow  por- 
tended the  death  of  autumn. 

The  mother  would  have  cast  herself  down  upon  her 
baby's  grave  and  remained  there ;  but  with  gentle  force  her 
friend  compelled  her  home.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
2 


14  THE   senator's    SON. 

when  they  returned.  Mrs.  Madison  went  in  a  few  moments 
to  see  that  the  children  were  left  in  comfort.  While  she 
was  there,  Burns  came  in.  He  was  not  drunk,  for  he  was 
out  of  money,  and  could  not  get  any  liquor.  He  had  not 
been  home  since  that  fatal  night ;  it  was  the  first  time  he 
had  been  sober  for  days  and  days.  He  looked  pale,  cross, 
and  unhappy ;  his  face  flushed  with  shame  when  he  met  the 
eye  of  their  visitor.  His  wife  turned  her  face  away  from 
him,  as  he  came  in,  without  looking  towards  him.  An 
ominous  silence  settled  him;  glancing  around,  he  asked 
hastily  — 

"  Where  is  Annie  V^ 

Perhaps  he  had  a  recollection  of  his  cruelty. 

^^  She  is  dead,"  replied  Mrs.  Madison,  gravely;  "dead 
and  buried." 

"  Annie  dead  T^   he  enquired  with  a  bewildered  air. 

"  Yes !  Mr.  Burns,  she  is  dead.  Do  you  remember 
your  brutal  treatment  of  her  the  other  night  ?  She  died  of 
that  —  you  are  her  murderer!" 

"  My  God  !"  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  miserable  man, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  No  !  I  couldn't  have  killed  her 
—  little  Annie  !  our  only  girl  —  our  little  Ann  I —  don't  say 
so,  don't  say  that !  " 

He  sank  into  a  chair,  trembling  all  over 

Soon  the  fear  of  a  weak  nature  began  to  overpower  even 
remorse. 

"■  Does  any  one  know  it  ?  Are  the  officers  after  me  ?  " 
he  asked. 


THE  senator's   SON.  15 

"  No  one  knows  of  it  yet  except  myself,  out  of  your 
family,  and  no  one  shall  know  of  it,  as  long  as  you  remain 
a  sober,  penitent  man.  Let  tliis  awful  lesson  be  enough, 
Mr.  Burns.  Promise  me  never  to  taste  another  drop  of  ar- 
dent spirits,  and  we  promise  you  to  keep  your  terrible  secret. 
But  break  your  promise,  and  we  give  jou  up  at  once  to  the 
justice  of  the  law.'' 

"  I  promise  you,"  he  replied  eagerly. 

It  was  growing  dark  :  Mrs.  Madison  was  obliged  to  leave 
the  unhappy  man  to  make  his  peace  with  his  wife,  as  best 
he  could,  and  went  away,  leaving  them  with  each  other. 
Her  beautiful  mansion  welcomed  her  home  with  its  look  of 
luxury  and  ease.  She  went  to  her  room  and  sat  down  in 
her  favorite  easy  chair,  weary  and  dejected.  The  shining 
grate  was  heaped  with  glowing  anthracite,  the  lamps  burned 
pleasantly  —  a  rich  cheerfulness  pervaded  the  apartment, 
contrasting  with  the  gloom  she  had  left  behind. 

Little  Parke  was  waiting  to  see  his  mother,  and  receive 
her  good-night  kiss  before  he  went  to  his  crib.  A  servant 
brought  in  tea  and  set  it  beside  her ;  she  drank  it  with  but 
little  appetite,  and  when  it  was  carried  away,  Parke  climbed 
into  her  lap.  She  gave  him  a  great  many  good-night  kisses, 
yet  could  not  let  him  go ;  her  fingers  lingered  in  his  sunny 
curls,  turning  them  back  from  his  brow,  while  her  eyes 
dwelt  upon  his  fairness  and  beauty.  A  noble-looking  boy 
he  was,  with  his  father's  handsome  features,  and  the  prom- 
ise of  his  talent.  The  sunny  landscape  of  the  future  into 
which  she  had  yesterday  glanced  with  so  hopeful  an  eye, 


16  THE  senator's   SON. 

seemed  sadly  changed ;  dark  clouds  were  drifting  over  it ; 
gloom  and  terror  were  usurping  the  place  of  beauty.  It  was 
but  a  phantom  landscape  though,  conjured  up  by  the  weird 
words  of  a  wronged  mother's  passion  3  and  with  a  smile  and 
sigh,  she  strove  to  call  her  mind  away  from  it. 

Still  she  hardly  felt  willing  to  let  the  boy  go  away  to 
his  crib ;  when  he  teased  to  sleep  with  her  she  gladly  con- 
sented, and  all  night  she  held  him  closely  in  her  arms,  as  if 
screening  him  from  some  invisible  danger.  Notwithstand- 
ing her  fatigue  she  slept  but  little.  Thought  was  busy  with 
a  new  subject.  There  had  not  been  in  those  days  all  this 
stir  about  temperance,  which  has  led  people  since  to  think 
so  much  about  the  ^  worm  of  the  still,'  and  devise  such  good 
means  for  its  death.  She  had  no  idea  in  what  manner  an 
attack  might  be  made  upon  the  evil  thing.  Little  Annie's 
ghost  hovered  about  her  pillow,  calling,  with  feeble  cries  of 
pain,  for  an  atonement  to  be  made,  and  refusing  to  be  qui- 
eted with  anything  less  than  an  earnest  promise  to  cherish 
henceforth  an  unsparing  enmity  against  the  lawless  robber 
who  had  deprived  her  of  her  wearisome  life. 

Lovely  in  spirit  as  in  person,  capable  of  profound  thought 
as  well  as  quick  feeling,  Mrs.  Madison  did  not  dismiss  the 
subject  from  her  mind,  until  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  her  individual  duty  to  wield  one  blow,  however 
slight  it  might  be,  directed  by  the  arm  of  a  delicate  woman, 
against  the  torturing  worm  that,  vas  eating  into  the  heart 
of  almost  every  family  in  the  land.  Its  fiery  fangs  were 
not  clinging  to  any  of  her  beloved  ones  in  the  immediate 


THE    senator's    SON  17 

circle  of  home ;  but  friends  she  had,  and  friends  of  friends 
who  suffered  ; —  the  world  suffered,  and  something  ought  to 
be  done  for  its  relief.  She  did  not  dream,  proud  and  happy 
wife  that  she  was,  she  did  not  dream  that  her  husband  was 
like  a  fair  and  ruddy  fruit,  promising  to  the  eye,  but  which 
was  already  a  little  ashen  at  the  core,  and  doomed  to  swift 
decay. 

"  It  was  through  the  temptation  of  one  who  controls 
himself  well,  that  poor  Burns  fell,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  and  my  husband  was  the  tempter.  Never  —  never  will  I, 
remotely  or  in  any  manner,  be  the  agent  of  another's  de- 
struction. Rather  let  my  feeble  light  burn  as  a  signal  to 
warn  all  from  the  danger  that  is  nigh.'^ 

Calmed  by  this  good  resolution,  she  fell  asleep. 


^^ 


CHAPTER    II. 

The  first  notable  opportunity  which  occurred  for  Mrs. 
Madison  to  ^  burn  her  signal  light/  was  upon  New  Year's 
Day.  In  the  great  city  where  she  resided  it  was  the  uni- 
versal custom  of  the  ladies  to  receive  their  friends  among 
the  gentlemen,  upon  that  day. 

It  was  an  honor,  eagerly  sought  by  the  most  aspiring, 
to  enter  the  parlors  of  this  beautiful  woman,  and  receive  her 
graceful  welcome.  Her  distinguished  position,  as  the  fair 
descendant  of  an  ancient,  honorable,  and  wealthy  family,  the 
gentle  patron  of  literature  and  the  arts,  and  the  wife  of  their 
talented  senator,  made  every  movement  of  her's,  in  society, 
conspicuous.  It  was  with  a  little  secret  trembling  of  the 
heart,  therefore,  that  she  ordered  the  arrangements  of  her 
table  upon  that  morning ;  for  she  had  resolved  to  banish 
wine  from  it  altogether.  This  was  then  an  almost  unprece- 
dented movement.  By  the  time  she  had  finished  dressing, 
she  had  recovered  her  composure ;    conscious  that  her  dig- 


THE  senator's  son.  19 

nit  J  of  position  would  enable  her  to  carry  out  her  ideas  of 
right. 

She  descended  to  receive  her  guests  in  all  the  regal 
beauty  of  her  womanly  power.  She  had  a  well-chosen  word 
for  all  —  statesmen,  poets,  artists,  beaux,  and  dandies.  She 
fascinated  all  alike,  by  her  sweet  self-possession,  her 
sprightly  wit,  her  fine  tact. 

Sipping  the  fragrant  coffee  from  cups  of  costly  porcelain, 
anxious  for  every  word  and  look  of  their  hostess,  her  guests 
appeared  both  satisfied  and  delighted.  Whatever  they  may 
have  thought  of  the  important  omission  from  the  table,  of 
course  none  spoke  of  it,  until  the  day  began  to  wear  to  a 
close ;  and  among  the  later  callers  the  effects  of  previous  hos- 
pitality began  to  make  themselves  unpleasantly  apparent. 
Intemperance  then,  with  a  thousand-fold  more  fatality  than 
the  cholera  now,  raged  among  the  brave,  the  noble,  the 
gifted  of  the  land.  'The  brightest  stars  went  wheeling  and 
tottering  down  the  firmament  of  society  and  disappeared  in 
perpetual  darkness.  It  is  not  strange  that  more  than  a  ma- 
jority of  those  who,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  nfternoon,  pre- 
sented themselves  before  Mrs.  Madison,  were  more  fitted  to 
be  presented  to  the  kind  care  of  their  servants  and  beds,  than 
to  the  presence  of  a  refined  woman.  She  had  ample  opportu- 
nity of  studying  the  different  kinds  of  madness  which  the 
same  fiery  tooth  had  infused  into  the  temperaments  of  her 
friends.  Some,  it  is  true,  seemed  to  glow  with  more  in- 
tense brilliancy,  to  be  only  more  extremely  courteous ;  in 
others,   their  broad,  good-humor  provoked  her  smile;    or 


20  THE  senator's  son. 

their  senseless  flatteries  her  frown ;  again,  their  stupid  in- 
anities excited  a  disgust  which  courtesy  could  hardly  conceal. 

^^  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Madison,"  said  a  gentleman,  speak- 
ing rather  thickly,  who,  when  he  had  the  control  of  his  senses, 
was  remarkable  for  his  delicate  devotion  of  demeanor  in  the 
presence  of  ladies,  "but  I  would  prefer  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  I  have  not  given  my  guests  any  wine  to-day,"  she  re- 
plied with  a  pleasant  smile. 

^^  Mr.  Madison's  famous  cellars  are  not  growing  empty, 
are  they?"  "Oh,  no!"  with  another  persuasive  smile. 
"  But  I  regard  wine  as  a  most  specious,  false  friend  —  an 
enemy  in  disguise  —  whom  I  have  had  the  courage  to  ban- 
ish from  my  presence." 

"  Well ! "  with  a  polite,  classic  oath,  "  I  fear  you  will 
banish  me  too ;  for  I  must  confess  its  sinning  outrageously 
against  hospitality." 

"  If  you  find  nothing  to  attract  you  to  our  house,  Mr. 
Sinclair,  but  our  wine-cellars,  I  am  sorry,"  she  replied  with 
gravity. 

"Oh  —  oh  —  oh  ! "  I  know  you  are  very  charming  ! 
but  I  like  wine  as  well  as  women,  and  so  does  Madison ; 
I " 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Sinclair,"  interrupted  his  hostess, 
with  a  jesture  of  dismissal,  while  the  roses  crowned  her  in- 
dignant brow. 

"  Ah  ! — oh  —  I  beg  your  par — "  but  his  friends  who 
had  some  faint  sense  of  propriety  remaining,  took  him  by 
the  arm,  and  departed. 


THE   senator's   SON.  21 

It  was  with  a  deeper  sense  than  ever  of  the  magnitude 
of  the  cloud  overshadowing  the  land,  that  the  senator's  wife 
dismissed  that  evening  the  last  of  her  guests,  and  sat  down 
to  think  over  the  events  of  the  day. 

Mrs.  Madison's  little  light  attracted  a  great  many  eyes. 
Mothers,  wives,  and  daughters,  with  hearts  bleeding  over 
the  secret  or  open  excesses  of  those  dearest  to  them,  desired 
to  set  their  lights  a-burning  too ;  but  these  were  mostly  ex- 
tinguished by  the  command  of  those  who  stood  greatest  in 
need  of  being  warned.  Her  own  was  not  an  exception. 
Upon  her  husband's  return,  in  the  spring,  he  laughed  good- 
humoredly  at  what  he  called  her  silly  excess  of  philan- 
thropy. 

"  You  are  too  peerless  a  woman  to  ride  such  a  hobby  as 
that,"  he  said,  kissing  the  cheeks  that  were  glowing  with 
feeling.  "  Let  every  body  take  care  of  himself.  It  is  not 
our  fault  if  some  of  our  friends  take  a  glass  too  much  —  we 
are  only  responsible  for  ourselves." 

"  All  people  cannot  take  care  of  themselves  —  they  have 
lost  the  power  —  their  friends  must  control  them." 

"  Well,  we  will  not  assume  these  duties  yet,"  and  by 
his  positive  command,  the  shining  worm  came  back  to  its 
accustomed  place  in  the  social  circle. 

And,  while  talking  with  him  upon  the  subject,  she  ven- 
tured to  relate  the  sad  story  of  little  Annie's  murder.  She 
did  not  wish  to  pain  her  husband,  but  to  impress  upon  him 
the  wrong  and  danger  of  leading  others  into  temptation  to 
which  we  are  not  ourselves  particularly  exposed.     He  was 


i>2  THE    senator's    SON. 

much  shocked,  and  walked  the  floor  a  long  time,  pale  and 
thoughtful. 

^'  It  was  wrong  I"  he  said  with  emphasis,  "  selfish,  care- 
less, wicked!  But  who  would  have  thought  of  such  a 
thing  ?  everybody  does  the  same.  I  promise  you,  dear 
Alice,  it  is  the  last  time  I  will  do  such  a  deed.'' 

He  enquired  after  Burns,  and  she  told  him  that  for  a 
month  or  six  weeks  he  had  remained  sober,  but  that  he 
wasted  away  to  a  skeleton,  was  deprived  of  natural  sleep, 
and  was  at  last  driven  back  to  his  cups,  by  the  gnawing 
agony  of  remorse. 

'<  Mrs.  Madison,"  he  said  to  me  once  while  I  remonstrated 
with  him,  "  Its  no  use  for  me  to  try  ever  to  be  a  good  man, 
unless  I  drive  it  away  by  liquor,  the  face  of  that  child  is 
forever  before  me  —  I  hear  her  cry  out  —  I  see  her  dead 
and  cold  —  I  hear  her  telling  her  mother  in  piteous  tones 
that  I  murdered  her.  Night  and  day  —  night  and  day  — 
I've  no  rest  except  when  the  madness  of  the  drink  is  upon 
mc.     Oh  !  if  it  wasn't  for  that,  I  would  try." 

"  The  tears  rolled  down  his  face  while  he  spoke.  Oh,  my 
husband !  his  wretchedness  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  think 
upon.  His  wife,  by  my  advice,  has  taken  her  children  and 
gone  back  to  her  father's,  where  they  will  be  safe  from  his 
drunken  fury.  But  there  ought  to  be  a  place  for  him, 
where  he  could  be  safe  from  himself.  Why  is  there  not  an 
insane  asylum,  a  prison,  a  something,  where  such  lost  crea- 
tures can  be  healed  like  the  sick, —  for  they  are  sick, —  and 
restored  to  hope,  to  life,   and  to  God?   Why  do  people 


THE    senator's    SON.  23 

furuisli  such  victims  with  the  means  of  accomplishing  their 
own  death  ?  Better  give  an  infant  the  blaze  that  it  cries 
for  !  Why  is  there  no  law  to  protect  and  take  care  of  such  ? 
Oh  !  Mr.  Madison,  I  wish  —  I  fervently  wish  that  there 
was  not  a  drop  of  ardent  spirits  in  the  land." 

"  Why  should  you  trouble  your  pretty  head  about  such 
perplexing  questions,  my  Alice  ?  Its  a  great  deal  you  know 
about  the  policy  of  such  things.  You  would  banish  health 
and  comfort  from  many  a  poor  man's  "hearth  when  you  ban- 
ished ardent  spirits  from  the  land.  Your  heart  is  too  ten- 
der, pretty  mother ;  I'm  afraid  you'll  make  a  girl  of  our 
Parke,  if  you  bring  him  up  in  the  hearing  of  such  non- 
sense.'' 

^^  Oh!ao,  my  heart's  not  too  tender;  its  not  half  capa- 
cious enough  for  the  claims  of  humanity  upon  it,"  she  re- 
plied with  a  sigh ;  "  and  you  shan't  shut  my  eyes  with  your 
kisses,  neither.  They  can  see  almost  as  far  into  the  right, 
as  yours,  my  honored  statesman  !" 

And  so  he  kissed  away  and  laughed  away  her  appeals. 

Mr.  3Iadison  had  made  himself  a  favorite,  and  won  an 
honorable  position  during  his  first  session.  He  was  one  of 
the  youngest  members,  but  he  represented  an  important 
district ;  and  he  was  a  man  eminently  calculated  to  attract 
attention  and  to  please,  though  not  perhaps  to  make  a  pro- 
found and  lasting  impression.  In  speaking,  he  was  brilliant 
and  effective;  his  rhetoric  was  sparkling,  his  satire  Was 
keen,  his  gestures  graceful ;  he  excited  the  passions  of  men 
rather  than  appealed  to  their  judgments.     Even  his  enemies 


24  THE  senator's  son. 

conceded  that  he  was  a  man  of  honorable  sentiments,  and 
generous  to  a  fault. 

Upon  his  return  to  Washington,  he  took  with  him  his 
little  family.  He  found  his  position  mere  enviable  than 
ever.  His  resources  extended  with  the  demands  made  upon 
them;  and  whatever  of  political  distinction  he  won,  was 
reflected  in  softer  lustre  from  his  beautiful  wife,  as  she 
moved  in  the  circles  of  society,  adorning  and  adorned. 
She  who,  the  previous  winter,  had  read  her  husband's 
speeches  in  the  solitude  of  her  apartment,  and  silently 
admired  and  loved,  now  listened  to  them  as  they  fell  glow- 
ing from  his  lips,  and  saw  their  eloquence  reflected  in  the 
varying  faces  of  those  by  whom  she  was  surrounded. 

Who  shall  weigh  the  influence  of  a  pure  and  lovely 
woman?  Fashionable  excess  retired  ashamed  from  the 
sweet  glance  of  Mrs.  Madison's  rebuking  eye.  It  may  be 
that  it  lived  and  flourished  as  well  as  ever,  but  it  kept  itself 
more  concealed  from  the  public  gaze. 

At  length  she  began  to  be  troubled  for  her  own  happi- 
ness. She  began  to  suspect  an  unwelcome  presence  by  her 
own  hearth-stone. 

She  knew,  if  others  did  not,  that  Mr.  Madison  could 
speak  well  only  when  under  the  influence  of  wine,  and  that 
his  gay  and  fascinating  spirits  at  an  evening  assembly  were 
proportioned  to  the  amount  of  a  false  and  dangerous  stimu- 
lus. But  it  was  true  of  a  greater  portion  of  society.  What 
of  that  ?  He  was  neither  a  mental  or  physical  Titan ;  and 
such  excitement,  long  continued,  must  soon  begin  to  wear 


THE  senator's  son.  5^5 

upon  Lis  powers.  In  the  zenith  of  his  prosperity,  and  the 
first  fullness  of  his  talents  and  beauty,  his  faithful  wife  dis- 
covered the  first  indications  of  premature  decay. 

She  kept  her  fears  to  herself,  and  sought  to  withhold 
him,  by  the  thousand  invisible  chains  of  a  woman's  power, 
from  his  dazzling  but  dangerous  course.  Perhaps,  had  she 
been  constantly  at  his  side,  she  would  have  saved  her  trea- 
sure from  the  hands  of  the  mocker. 

But  the  succeeding  year  she  remained  at  home.  A  little 
daughter  was  added  to  their  store  of  good  gifts ;  who,  as 
she  developed  from  the  formlessness  of  baby-blankets  and 
rosy  excess  of  plumptitude,  was  of  course  pronounced  the 
tiny  type  of  her  beautiful  mother.  Wee  Alice  was  indeed 
a  fairy  child ;  with  her  mother's  dark-brown  eyes,  fringed 
with  long  black  lashes,  and  crowned  by  delicate-arched 
brows  —  with  her  sill^en,  shining  hair — with  her  cunningly 
cleft  lips,  closing  in  the  crimson  semblance  of  a  bow,  from 
which  was  inefiectively  winged  the  silver  arrows  of  her 
lisping  speech. 

With  two  such  claimants  upon  her  time  and  love,  Mrs. 
Madison  had  no  desire  to  return  to  the  gay  Capital.  An- 
other and  another  year  passed,  and  found  her  at  home, 
devoting  herself  chiefly  to  her  children.  It  was  with  a  sad 
and  anxious  heart  that  she  saw  her  husband  depart  —  each 
time  sadder  and  more  anxious ;  until  she  would  gladly  have 
abandoned  her  peaceful  life  at  home,  and  accompanied  him 
wherever  he  went.     But  her  health,  which  had  been  deli- 


t2G  THE  senator's  son. 

catc  since  Alice's  birth,  would  not  permit  it,  and  she  could 
only  follow  him  with  prayers. 

This  fear  for  his  welfare  was  the  only  cloud  upon  her 
happiness ;  when  this  was  banished  from  her  sky,  she  had 
only  sunshine  and  delight. 

It  was  in  the  fifth  year  of  Mr.  Madison's  senatorial 
tei-m  that,  one  beautiful  day  in  early  spring,  his  wife  sat  in 
her  favorite  apartment  —  the  sunset-room  little  Parke  called 
it,  because  he  could  always  see  the  sun  set  from  its  west 
window.  She  sat  in  her  easy-chair,  the  light  sewing  she 
held  fallen  into  her  lap,  regarding  with,  a  mother's  heart- 
worn  gaze  the  amusements  of  her  children.  Parke,  a  hand- 
some aristocratic-looking  boy  of  nine,  was  endeavoring  to 
initiate  his  little  sister  into  the  mysteries  of  a  game  of  mar- 
bles. She  tried  hard  enough  to  acquire  the  necessary  wis- 
dom, but  succeeded  no  farther  than  in  rolling  them  far  and 
wide  over  the  carpet,  in  lawless  confusion. 

"■  I  declare,  sis,"  he  cried,  with  a  good-natured  laugh, 
for  he  never  got  out  of  patience  with  the  dearly-loved  little 
creature,  ''  I  believe  your  head  was  never  made  to  hold  any- 
thing but  doll-babies.  I  don't  think  girls  are  as  smart  as 
boys  anyhow,  do  you,  mother  ?  " 

The  self-sufficient  tone  in  which  this  question  was  asked 
called  up  a  smile  to  the  eye  of  his  mother;  but  the  young 
master  was  imp^vious  to  its  roguish  sarcasm,  as  she  replied 
quietly  — 

"  Y'ou  must  remember  that  Alice  is  not  quite  four  years 


THE    senator's    SON.  27 

old  yet.     How  much  of  an  adept  were  you  in  marbles,  at 
that  age  ?  " 

^'  Well,  papa  didn't  bring  me  any  until  I  was  five.  But 
if  he  had,  I  guess  I  could  have  found  out  what  use  to  make 
of  them.'' 

^'  You  guess  !  Wouldn't  it  sound  better  if  you  should 
say,  ^  you  think  ? '  " 

^'  Gruess  is  proper  enough,  and  its  a  good  Yankee  word, 
if  you  please,  mother.  Here,  Allie,  bring  me  that  alley 
which  you  have  rolled  away  under  the  table." 

"  Allie,  bring  the  alley,"  laughed  the  little  girl  as  she 
crept  under  the  table  after  the  striped  and  tattooed  ball. 

"Yes,  Allie  bring  the  alley.  Isn't  that  funny  now? 
You're  a  pretty  smart  little  girl,  after  all,  if  you  do  take  to 
doll-babies  so." 

"She's  a  perfect  little  witch  !  isn't  she,  mother?"  he 
continued,  unable  to  resist  the  cunning  way  in  which  Alice 
held  out  the  marble  to  him,  and  just  as  he  was  about  to 
take  it,  gave  it  a  toss  behind  her,  which  sent  it  into  their 
mamma's  cap.  "  Now  you've  got  to  give  me  a  kiss  to  pay 
for  that." 

The  soft  little  arms  were  about  his  neck,  and  the  })retty 
lips  held  up  to  his  face,  when,  with  the  wilfulness  of  boys 
in  general,  he  concluded  to  refuse  the  offering,  and  over 
they  both  went,  tumbling  upon  the  floor  in  a  burst  of  mer- 
riment. 

"  You  play  too  rudely  for  little  sister  —  you  will  hurt 
ter"  —  interposed  the  matron,  looking  on  with  pleased  eye, 


28  THE  senator's  son. 

which  still  preserved  its  watchfulness.  *'  Besides,  you  learn 
her  to  be  boisterous.  Papa  would  not  like  to  find  his  pretty 
daughter  grown  noisy  as  you.'' 

Parke  instantly  subsided  into  the  most  subdued  tender- 
ness towards  his  fairy  play-mate,  stroking  her  fair  curls  and 
pinching  her  rosy  cheeks  very  softly. 

^'  When  is  my  father  coming  home  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  shall  expect  him  next  week — just  a  week  from 
to-day." 

^'  Hurrah  for  Jackson !  that's  good  news.  Did  you 
hear  that,  Allie?  Father's  coming  home  in  a  week.  I 
should  like  to  dance,  I  feel  so  glad.  Mother,  won't  you 
please  to  open  the  piano  and  play  a  waltz  ?  —  Allie  and  I 
want  to  dance." 

^*  I  think  it  is  pleasanter  in  here  than  in  the  parlor," 
was  the  reply. 

^'  Just  one  waltz,  if  you  please,  mother,"  urged  Parke. 

And  "  please,  mamma,"  pleaded  wee  Alice. 

So  Mrs.  Madison  went  into  the  parlor,  where,  inspired 
by  the  glee  of  the  children,  who  were  only  too  happy,  she 
played  with  more  spirit  than  she  had  done  for  months. 

Parke,  who  had  been  taught  by  a  master,  was  really  a 
beautiful  dancer ;  and  even  baby  Alice,  who  already  showed 
a  genius  for  music,  flew  around  like  a  sprite  to  the  time  of 
the  brilliant  notes.  It  was  a  lovely  picture.  The  mother 
so  youthful-looking  and  beautiful  —  the  children  so  bright 
and  joyful. 

With   glowing  cheeks,  flashing  eyes,   and  hair  tossed 


THE    senator's    SON.  29 

back,  the  handsome  boy  whirled  round  to  the  measured 
melody,  holding  his  sister  carefully,  who,  with  toes  just 
touching  the  carpet,  ringlets  waving,  and  blue  dress  float- 
ing, went  across  and  across  the  room  with  an  etherial  light- 
ness that  explained  her  pet  appellative  of  '^  fairy  Alice." 

They  were  soon  wearied  with  dancing ;  and  their  mother 
sent  them  away  to  ask  their  nurse  for  the  supper  of  bread 
and  milk,  for  the  sun  was  throwing  his  setting  radiance  into 
the  west  room.  When  they  had  left  the  apartment,  Mrs. 
Madison  still  played  on.  Spirits  arose  at  the  bidding  of 
sweet  sounds  —  spirits  of  the  olden  time,  when  she  was  a 
careless  girl  —  a  happy  bride  —  a  thoughtful  mother.  The 
past,  the  present,  and  the  future  swept  around  in  a  magic 
circle.  The  gay  airs  which  had  set  her  children's  feet  in 
motion  no  longer  suited  her  mood;  plaintive  melodies, 
sad  vagaries  of  music,  floated  up  from  the  piano  and  filled 
the  shadowy  apartment  with  solemn  sweetness.  The  door 
was  open  into  the  sunset-room,  and  in  the  mirror  before  her 
was  reflected  the  dying  flush  of  the  fair  spring  day,  while 
all  around  brooded  the  mystic  wings  of  twilight.  She  did 
not  make  the  efibrt  to  sing ;  but  her  hands  kept  on  like  a 
piece  of  exquisite  mechanism,  doing  the  bidding  of  her 
dreamy  will. 

Mrs.  Madison  thought  of  her  husband's  brilliant  career, 
and  she  played  a  kind  of  triumphal  march  loud  and  grand ; 
she  thought  of  the  swift  change  which  had  come  over  him 
in  the  last  three  or  four  years  —  startling  rumors  which  she 
had  heard  of  his  excesses  when  away  from  home  —  how, 
S* 


30  THE    senator's    SON. 

forgetting  his  most  admirable  wife  and  lovely  children,  he 
had  delighted  himself  with  ignoble  pleasures,  and  had  once 
or  twice  nearly  dishonored  himself  by  ill  conduct  in  the 
house  —  and,  thinking  of  this,  the  notes  sank  down  into  the 
pleading  pathos  of  a  prayer. 

She  thought  of  his  decreasing  tenderness  towards  her  — 
that  her  delicate  health  did  not  receive  from  him  that  affec- 
tionate kindness  which  the  mother  of  his  children  was  en- 
titled to  —  of  his  frequent  irritation,  and  even  harshness 
when  last  in  his  family. 

Trying  to  solve  in  her  soul  the  perplexing  enigma  of  the 
fall  of  so  gentle,  generous,  and  noble  a  nature,  she  was  ready 
to  set  her  foot  upon  the  enchanting  wine-cup  and  crush  it 
into  the  earth.  She  knew  that  many  of  her  husband's 
finest  qualities  had  been  the  very  ones  which  had  made  him 
a  prey  to  temptation.  His  social  disposition,  his  great  gen- 
erosity, his  desire  to  please  others  and  to  be  pleased,  the 
very  craits  which  had  made  him  so  generally  beloved,  were 
working  to  his  ruin.  What  influence  was  there  which  could 
be  set  over  against  that  to  which  he  was  yielding  himself, 
since  that  exerted  by  his  home,  herself,  their  gifted  boy, 
their  sweet  Alice,  had  failed  ?  Oh,  what  was  there  now  to 
be  done  ?  She  felt  the  utter  fallibility  of  earthly  aid ;  and 
"while  her  tears  fell  down  like  rain  upon  the  keys,  she  taught 
them  the  voice  of  her  entreaties  to  Grod. 

There  is  mighty  strength  in  prayer  for  all  who  are  faint- 
ing or  oppressed.  Mrs.  Madison  grew  composed ;  a  quiet 
joy  crept  into  her  heart  at  the  thought  of  meeting  her  hus- 
band so  soon. 


THE    senator's    SON.  31 

^'  After  another  year/'  she  said,  "  I  shall  have  him  to 
myself;  for  I  hope  that  no  entreaties  of  his  party  will  tempt 
him  into  public  life  again.  Once  out  of  the  dangerous  ex- 
citements of  the  arena,  he  will  be  won  back  to  his  old  pur- 
poses again.'' 

The  last  music  which  stole  from  the  instrument  was  a 
subdued  but  joyous  strain  of  '^  Home,  sweet  home."  Then 
the  mother  arose  and  went,  as  she  always  did,  to  see  her 
children  safe  in  their  nice  little  cots,  to  hear  them  repeat 
their  evening  petition,  and  to  give  them  the  good-night 
kiss. 

^^I  don't  think  I  shall  half  sleep  to-night,  thinking 
about  papa's  coming  home  next  week,"  said  Parke,  with  a 
bright  smile,  as  his  mother  kissed  him. 

"  You  must  sleep  all  the  better  for  that,  dear,  so  as  to  be 
wide  awake  when  he  comes.     Good  night,  my  darlings." 

^'  Good  night !  —  good  night !  dear  mamma." 

The  pleasant  sound  of  their  voices  —  Parke's  clear  and 
boyish,  Alice's  soft  and  lisping  —  brought  back  the  cheerful- 
ness to  their  mother's  fair  face.  It  was  with  a  smile  of  ex- 
pectant pleasure  that  she  enquired  of  Thomas,  as  she  met 
him  in  the  hall,  if  he  had  been  to  the  post-office  ? 

"  Just  returned,  madam,  with  a  letter,  was  bringing  it 
to  you,"  replied  the  servant,  giving  her  one  which  she  saw 
by  the  lamp-light  was  post-marked  Washington. 

Like  a  young  girl  with  her  first  love-letter,  Mrs.  Madi- 
son retreated  to  the  privacy  of  her  beloved  sun-set  room, 
before  she  broke  the  seal  of  the  precious  missive. 


32  THE    SENATOR  S    SON. 

Drawing  her  rocking  cliair  close  up  to  the  table  and  ar- 
ranging the  lamp,  she  prepared  to  enjoy  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure of  the  week  —  the  reading  of  the  closely-written,  four- 
page  letter. 

Like  one  who  is  prolonging  a  hit  of  happiness,  she  held 
it  a  moment  in  her  hands,  kissed  it,  and  turned  for  the  first 
time  to  dwell  upon  the  superscription,  before  breaking  the 
seal. 

It  was  not  her  husband's  handwriting :  the  seal  —  the 
seal  —  was  black  !  She  arose  from  her  chair  in  a  sudden 
terror. 

Pause  a  moment,  loving  and  beautiful  wife,  before  you 
break  the  warning  wax  which  keeps  from  you  the  knowl- 
edge that  you  are  a  widow  !  She  did  not  pause,  but  with 
trembling  fingers  tore  open  the  envelop  and  read  the  first 
few  lines.  Then  with  a  sharp  cry  she  fell  down,  like  one 
dead,  upon  the  floor. 

It  was  hours  before  the  friends,  suddenly  summoned, 
brought  back  consciousness  —  the  consciousness  of  her  aw- 
ful bereavement. 

"  Why  did  they  not  let  me  die  ?"  she  asked  ;  "  why  did 
they  lift  me  out  of  that  black  whirl  of  agony  in  which  I 
had  gone  down  to  the  verge  of  the  grave  ?  Better  be  there, 
beside  my  husband,  than  to  live,  and  know  that  he  is 
lost." 

Some  one  ventured  to  whisper  the  names  of  her  children. 

"  They  are    miserable   orphans,"  she   cried,  and   sank 

again  into  insensibility.     For  two  or  three  days  they  feared 


THE   senator's    SON.  33 

for  her  life  or  reason.  She  did  not  rave,  but  laid  in  tear- 
less, voiceless  quiet,  with  closed  eyes,  and  only  the  faint 
pulse,  and  an  occasional  trembling  of  the  eye-lids  to  tell 
that  she  existed.  People  thought  that  in  this  stupor  of  her 
physical  powers  her  mental  powers  found  rest.  But  not  for 
one  instant  did  she  lose  the  acute  sense  of  her  wretchedness. 
Her  nerves  were  strained  to  such  a  tension  that  they  could 
not  even  vibrate.  Her  thoughts  rushed  through  her  brain 
like  a  river  of  fire,  bearing  ever  the  same  vision  upon  their 
burning  waves  —  the  vision  of  her  husband,  cold  and  dead, 
stricken  down  by  the  knife  of  the  assassin,—  her  husband 
dead  —  murdered !  What  was  it  to  her  now  that,  of  late 
years,  he  had  sometimes  been  to  her  cold  or  unkind  ?  The 
first  fiery  touch  of  sorrow  had  burnt  up  every  such  recollec- 
tion ;  only  the  pure  gold  of  their  mutual  love  remained.  She 
saw  him,  in  the  pride  of  manhood  —  beautiful,  eloquent,  be- 
loved —  suddenly  cut  down,  with  no  time  to  send  a  message 
of  dying  love,  or  perhaps  to  breath  a  dying  prayer.  All  to 
her  was  darkness  —  no  hope  —  no  ray  of  light.  She  lay 
there  waiting  her  own  doom ;  there  did  not  seem  a  thread 
of  mercy  left,  by  which  she  could  climb  back  to  life. 

Mr.  Madison  had  got  into  a  dispute  with  a  southern 
member  while  they  were  both  upon  the  floor,  which  threat- 
ened a  personal  rencontre.  Heated  by  wine,  he  said  things 
which  he  did  not  mean  —  uttered  taunts  more  dishonorable 
to  himself  than  to  the  one  at  whom  they  were  hurled.  Mr. 
Madison  was  a  gentleman ;  but  who  can  answer  for  the  pro- 
priety of  an  insane  man  ?  and  he  was  mad  with  intoxication 


34  THE  senator's  son. 

at  the  time  of  his  abusive  attack.  The  two  disputants  were 
called  to  order ;  but  unfortunately  they  met  immediately 
after  leaving  the  senate-chamber. 

One  had  received  a  deadly  insult ;  the  other,  still  reck- 
less, would  make  no  apologies,  but  with  an  air  of  bravado 
followed  up  his  empty  assertions  until  silenced  by  the  steel 
of  his  opponent  at  his  heart.  Alas !  for  the  irretrievable 
moment  of  passion  !  A  man  sent  unprepared  to  the  pres- 
ence of  his  Maker;  another  to  be  tormented  through  life 
with  a  vain  remorse  for  having  taken  the  life  of  a  brother 
—  the  life,  too,  of  one  who,  however  gross  the  injuries  he 
inflicted,  was  scarcely  in  a  condition  to  be  responsible  for 
them.  A  career  begun  so  brilliantly,  closed  in  tumult  and 
dishonor  —  a  fine  mind  thrown  from  its  proper  balance  —  a 
noble  heart  perverted  from  its  best  impulses  !  Others,  be- 
sides his  unhappy  family,  might  weep  over  the  disastrous 
results,  and  turning  from  the  fair  temptation,  swear  eternal 
enmity  to  the  wine-cup. 

The  corpse  was  brought  home  for  burial.  Hundreds, 
forgetting  his  late  career,  bowed  their  heads  in  lamentation 
over  the  dust  of  the  statesman,  citizen,  and  friend.  Hun- 
dreds mourned  in  sympathy  with  the  desolate  wife,  and  wo- 
men wept  when  they  heard  of  the  agony  of  bereavement 
which  had  prostrated  her.  Their  tears,  their  sympathy, 
availed  her  nothing.  Separated  by  her  unconsciousness 
from  human  communion,  she  was  alone  with  her  grief  and 
her  Grod. 


CHAPTER    III. 

The  mother's  prayer  for  death  was  stayed  by  the 
thought  of  her  orphaned  children.  She  arose  from  a  sick- 
bed to  find  relief,  and  at  last  consolation,  in  her  care  for 
them.  Years  rolled  quietly  along.  Retiring  almost  en- 
tirely from  the  society  she  had  once  so  brilliantly  adorned, 
she  devoted  her  shining  talents  to  the  development  of  these 
two  young  minds,  and  to  moulding  their  plastic  passions 
and  feelings.  The  loss  of  the  gay  world  was  the  gain  of 
the  poor  and  afflicted;  for  the  time  and  wealth  of  Mrs. 
Madison  were  freely  bestowed  upon  the  suffering  and  des- 
titute classes  of  a  great  city.  In  her  frequent  missions  of 
mercy  she  was  often  cognizant  of  cases  similar  to  that  of 
Mrs.  Burns ;  where  all  the  wo,  the  want,  the  wretchedness 
of  families,  lay  at  the  doors  of  grog-shops.  She  pondered 
these  things  in  her  heart,  and  asked  herself  again  and  again 
if  there  was  no  way  for  the  salvation  of  those  who  had 
given  themselves  over  to  temptation  and  were  beyond  the 
reach  of  their  own  consciences  and  self-control. 


3G  THE  senator's  son, 

^^  If  it  were  feasible  to  erect  a  Hospital  in  this  cit}'^ 
where  such  poor  creatures  could  be  kept  from  self-destruc- 
tion until  cured,  I  would  gladly  give  half  of  my  possessions. 
But  a  Hospital  from  here  to  the  Battery  would  not  hold 
them  all;  and,  as  soon  as  released,  the  fiery  temptation 
would  be  forced  upon  them.  Its  a  horrible  thing  —  this 
trafiic  in  hquor  !  These  rum-shops  might  as  well  keep  each 
of  them  a  mad  dog  behind  the  counter  and  allow  people  to 
be  bitten  for  sixpence  a  bite;  and  the  law  might  as  well 
allovf  it.  Hydrophobia  or  delirium-tremens !  if  I  were  to 
choose  between  them,  I  would  take  that  which  was  at  least 
the  less  disgraceful.'' 

Thus  spoke  Mrs.  Madison  to  herself  as  she  hurried 
away,  with  pale  face  and  trembling  limbs,  from  a  house 
where  she  had  been  a  witness  to  the  horrors  of  the  drunk- 
ard's direct  earthly  enemy  —  and  the  victim  this  time  was  a 
woman  !  —  a  woman  who  had  little  children  cowerino-  in 

o 

the  cheerless  corner,  gazing  at  their  mother  with  affrighted 
eyes,  as  bound  to  her  bed  she  glared  at  them  with  terrible 
looks  of  madness  and  fear. 

Mrs.  Madison  knew  something  of  the  history  of  this 
poor  creature.  She  was  a  drunkard's  child,  and  had  been 
born  into  the  world  with  feeble  health  and  a  miserable,  ner- 
vous constitution.  She  had  a  morbid  appetite  for  slate- 
stone,  chalk,  and  opium,  and  grew  up  sickly,  afraid  of  the 
dark,  of  ghosts,  of  serpents,  and  with  a  mind  so  affected 
by  her  impaired  nerves  as  to  be  in  some  measure  insane. 
Nevertheless  she  married ;  and  after  the  birth  of  her  first 


THE    senator's    SON.  37 

baby,  the  physician  recommended  a  little  stimulus  every 
day  to  support  her  failing  strength.  She  soon  became  un- 
able to  drag  through  the  day  without  her  hitters ;  and  be- 
fore her  husband  suspected  the  extent  of  her  indulgence, 
her  strength,  the  poor  strength  bequeathed  to  her  by  an 
intemperate  parent,  gave  way  to  a  singular  sickness,  which 
the  doctors  told  the  alarmed  man  was  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  delirium  tremens.  Ashamed  and  astonished,  the  re- 
spectable and  honest  laborer  nursed  her  carefully  through 
this  first  attack  3  but  positively  denied  her  the  stimulus 
which  she  so  passionately  begged.  He  told  her  the  nature 
of  her  fearful  disease ;  and,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  reminded 
her  of  her  children,  of  his  love  for  her,  and  of  the  terrors 
of  her  situation.  She,  too,  was  alarmed  at  the  dangers 
past  and  impending ;  she  thanked  her  husband  for  denying 
her  appeals :  but  the  passion  was  acquired  j  the  shattered 
powers  were  not  calculated  for  steady  resistance  to  a  burn- 
ing appetite ;  and  the  very  first  day  in  which  she  was  well 
enough  to  creep  out  alone  into  the  street,  she  left  her  best 
shawl  at  the  pawn-broker's,  and  readily  obtained  the  liquid- 
fire  for  her  funeral-pyre  at  the  first  corner. 

With  such  feeble  powers  of  resistance  she  could  not 
struggle  long.  Her  good  husband  struggled  for  her.  When- 
ever he  found  any  liquor  in  the  house  he  destroyed  it;  he 
forbad  the  shops,  far  and  wide,  around  that  part  of  the 
town,  from  selling  their  poison  to  his  wife;  he  entreated, 
commanded,  and  even  punished.  But  where  a  wife's  and 
mother's  love  is  devoured  by  a  raging  passion,  be  sure  that 
4 


88  THE    senator's   BON. 

fear  will  have  no  control  —  not  even  the  fear  of  those  unut- 
terable agonies  which  frequently  assailed  her.  One  after 
another  of  those  little  comforts  which  blessed  their  home 
went  to  the  pawn-broker's.  It  was  worse  than  useless  to 
redeem  them,  for  they  only  traveled  back  over  the  old  road 
again.  Another  child  was  born  ',  a  poor,  imbecile,  helpless 
little  thing,  who  would  have  been  much  better  unborn  than 
growing  up  to  disgrace  and  suffering,  nourished  on  the  poi- 
son of  its  mother's  milk. 

Now  the  last  struggle  of  the  enemy  was  over;  he  was 
triumphant;  and  Mrs.  Madison,  who  had  yielded  to  the 
entreaties  of  the  unhappy  husband,  had  been  present  at 
that  most  terrible  death-bed. 

With  those  dying  screams  ringing  in  her  ears,  that  dy- 
ing face  in  all  its  contortions  of  anguish  before  her  eyes, 
she  hurried  home  to  escape,  in  the  cheerfulness  of  her  own 
fireside,  from  the  haunting  memories  of  the  scene. 

It  was  a  bleak  day  in  the  latter  part  of  December.  The 
snow  lay  on  the  housetops  and  in  corners,  but  had  been 
trampled  from  sight  in  the  busy  streets.  As  she  entered 
her  own  house  and  came  into  the  parlor  shivering,  Alice, 
now  grown  a  young  girl  of  thirteen,  sprang  forward  to  take 
her  bonnet  and  cloak. 

^'  How  tired  and  pale  you  look,  mother." 

"  I've  witnessed  enough  to  make  any  one  look  pale," 
she  replied,  with  a  shudder,  as  she  drew  her  chair  up  and 
put  out  her  feet  towards  the  sparkling  old-fashioned  grate, 
so  much  more  cheerful  than  anything  else  in  the  winter- 


THE   senator's   SON.  89 

time,  unless  it  be  the  broad  fire-place  in  tbe  kitchen  of  some 
ancient  farm-house. 

^^  What  have  you  seen,  dear  mother  ?  "  enquired  Alice, 
as  she  rolled  an  ottoman  beside  her  parent  and  leaned  her 
head  in  her  lap. 

^^  I  have  seen  a  woman  die  of  delirium-tremens." 

'^Oh!  mother!" 

Alice  held  up  her  pretty  hands,  while  her  large  hazel 
eyes  dilated  with  dread. 

"  What's  that  you've  been  frightening  our  sister  with  ?" 
asked  Parke,  as  he  came  out  of  the  library.  "  But  up  with 
that  chess-board,  Alf.,  and  let's  hear  this  woful  story." 

Two  boys,  or  rather  young  gentlemen,  came  out  of  the 
library.  The  first  was  Parke,  a  youth  of  seventeen,  and 
as  he  came  forward,  and  flinging  himself  down  on  the  rug, 
pulled  Alice  on  to  his  lap,  we  may  see  that  the  promise  of 
his  baby-hood  is  thus  far  liberally  fulfilled.  The  thick 
brown  ringlets  waving  and  fluttering  about  his  fine  fore- 
head, with  just  that  careless  beauty  which  had  distinguished 
his  father's  before  him ;  the  deep-blue  eye,  fiery  and  soft ; 
the  straight,  beautiful  nose,  the  handsome  mouth  —  all  his 
features  were  both  perfect  in  form  and  beaming  with  intel- 
lect and  intelligence.  His  face  had  the  pure,  womanly 
expression,  which  a  life  at  home  in  the  society  of  such  a 
mother  and  sister,  might  leave  upon  it,  even  after  two  years 
at  college,  finely  blended  with  the  pride  and  carelessness  of 
his  age.  He  had  the  patrician  air,  marking  his  descent 
from  families  of  wealth  and  cultivation,  and  through  even 


40  THE   senator's   SON. 

that,  a  more  delicate  and  distinguished  manner,  revealing 
refinement  of  thought  and  poetical  beauty  of  spirit.  There 
did  not  seem  the  semblance  of  guile  in  the  frank  glance  of 
his  glowing  eye;  the  only  fault  of  his  countenance  was 
that  the  womanly  sweetness  of  his  mouth  betokened  a  want 
of  energy,  which  was  not  made  up  for  by  the  bold  eye  and 
proudly-arched  brow.  There  was  spirit  in  the  thin  nostril, 
but  want  of  purpose  in  the  softly-rounded  chin. 

"  Just  help  yourself  to  that  royal  throne  of  an  easy- 
chair,  Alf.,  and  we'll  listen  to  the  story  of  wo." 

His  companion  dropped  comfortably  into  the  huge  vel- 
vet chair,  that  did  seem  a  little  like  a  chair  of  state.  He 
was  Parke's  chum  at  college,  and  being  too  far  removed 
from  his  own  home,  had  accepted  his  invitation  to  spend 
the  holidays  at  his  mother's. 

In  good  contrast  with  his  friend,  were  his  black  eyes, 
black  hair,  dark  complexion,  and  strong  though  not  inele- 
gant frame.  When  he  first  came  there,  Mrs.  Madison 
rather  wondered  at  her  son's  having  chosen  him  for  his  in- 
timate companion.  He  was  a  year  or  two  the  oldest, 
although  no  farther  advanced  in  his  studies;  his  talents 
were  of  a  dijfferent  order  from  Parke's  brilliant  and  variable 
genius;  he  did  not  talk  half  as  much,  but  what  he  said 
was  usually  full  of  character. 

*'  You  must  not  laugh,  Parke,"  said  Alice,  sedately;  "  for 
mamma  has  been  with  a  woman  that  had  the  delirium- 
tremens." 

"A   woman!"   ejaculated  Parke,   as  if   it  had  never 


THE    senator's    SON.  41 

entered  into  his  head  that  a  woman  was  capable  of  such  a 
thing. 

^'  Yes  ! "  said  Mrs.  Madison,  gravely,  "  and  the  mother 
of  two  little  children.  It  is  better  for  them  that  she  is 
dead ;  but  such  a  death !  I  shall  never  forget  it ;  and  ns 
for  sleeping  to-night,  I  fear  there  will  be  anything  but 
pleasant  dreams  for  me." 

^'  I  never  thought  you  were  nervous,  dear  mother,  the 
way  you  go  gliding  like  a  sunbeam  into  all  the  dark  corners 
of  this  many-cornered  city.  I  don't  believe  you  can  catch 
contagion  any  more  than  a  beam  of  pure  sunlight,  or  you 
would  have  had  the  measles,  delirium-tremens,  whooping- 
cough,  small-pox,  and  all  kinds  of  cutaneous  and  miscella- 
neous sufferings  long  ago,  so  I  guess  you  will  sleep  well 
enough  this  night." 

The  youth  looked  up  at  his  still  beautiful  mother  as  he 
made  this  speech,  as  if  she  were  a  being  as  faultless,  and  as 
much  to  be  adored  as  the  sun  was  by  the  orientals.  Alice 
laughed  to  think  of  her  mamma  having  the  measles  and 
said,  "  Oh,  what  a  saucy  brother ! "  but  gave  him  a  kiss  at 
the  same  moment. 

"  But  this  has  been  to  me  the  horror  of  horrors,"  re- 
sumed Mrs.  Madison.  "  To  die  in  so  shocking  a  manner, 
and  to  be  so  little  prepared  for  death.  Ah !  those  who  have 
supplied  her  so  plentifully  with  the  maddening  poison  have 
destroyed  both  her  body  and  soul.  There  ought  to  be  some 
punishment  for  them,"  she  continued,  while  the  color 
mounted  into  her  cheeks.  "  Against  the  warnings  of  her 
4* 


42  THE  senator's  son. 

husband,  and  the  knowledge  of  her  situation,  they  still  fur- 
nished her  with  the  means  of  death,  and  they  should  he  as 
responsible  as  though  they  had  sold  prussic  acid  to  an  in- 
sane person," 

^'  I  don't  think  my  mother  has  a  fault  in  the  world ;  but 
if  she  has  one,  its  her  idea  about  temperance,"  soliloquized 
Parke,  aloud,  for  the  benefit  of  the  company.  "  Here  she 
has  banished  wine  from  her  table,  while  all  her  neighbors 
see  proper  to  pay  it  the  customary  respect ;  and,  what  is 
worse,  she  takes  her  stand  with  those  impudent  reformei-s 
that  are  starting  up  all  over  the  land.  And  now  she  wants 
the  law  to  take  it  in  hand.  For  my  part,"  with  an  air  of 
wisdom,  ^'  I  do  not  think  any  one  to  blame  but  the  wretch 
herself.  Selling  liquor  is  an  honest  business  like  any  other, 
and  it  is  not  for  those  who  get  their  living  in  that  way  to  en- 
quire of  people  whether  they  are  capable  of  restraining  their 
appetites  within  proper  bounds.  Every  one  should  control 
himself  or  herself.  If  they  cannot  do  it,  let  them  take  the 
consequences." 

^'  You  talk  like  a  thoughtless  boy,  and  one  who  had 
never  been  taught  the  golden  rules  of  christian  principle. 
Selling  liquor  is  not  an  honest  business,  if  some  honest  men 
do  engage  in  it.  Because  what  they  sell  never  does  people 
any  real  good,  and  always  does  them  harm.  Money  spent 
for  liquor  is  much  worse  than  money  thrown  away.  The 
person  who  trafficks  in  ardent  spirits  takes  money,  friends, 
house,  home,  character,  health,  life,  and  soul;  in  exchange 
he  gives  madness,  disease,  murder,  riot,  blasphemy,  ruin, 


THE    senator's    SON.  43 

and  the  momentary  pleasure  of  delirium.  Is  that  an  honest 
business  ?  Does  it  not  call  for  the  interference  of  the  law 
as  much  as  gambling,  counterfeiting,  smuggling,  conspiracy, 
treason,  or  any  other  unlawful  thing  ?  Is  it  kind,  benevo- 
lent, brotherly,  or  christian  to  leave  a  fellow-creature,  af- 
flicted with  the  disease  of  the  love  of  strong  drinh,  to  aban- 
don himself  to  his  fatal  passion  ?  Is  it  right  to  lead  into 
temptation  ?  If  a  man  loses  control  of  his  appetite,  are  we 
to  take  advantage  of  his  misfortune,  his  sin,  even,  to  his 
destruction  and  our  pecuniary  benefit  ?  Heaven  forbid  we 
should  so  outrage  all  the  divine  precepts  that  were  left  for 
our  direction  in  cases  like  this.'^ 

"Oh,  mother,  you  take  a  dreadfully  serious  view  of  the 
matter  ]  I  dare  not  argue  with  you  in  that  style.  The  truth 
is  you  are  quite  too  good.  We  can't  expect  all  laws  of  busi- 
ness, and  the  nation,  to  be  founded  in  the  spirit  of  Christ." 

"  Why,  certainly,  in  a  christian  nation  they  should  be. 
What  is  there  to  prevent?  If  a  nation  consulted  only  its 
material  and  worldly  welfare,  it  would  increase  in  prosperity 
in  proportion  as  its  government  corresponds  with  the  gov- 
ernment of  Christ.  How  heavily  does  the  curse  of  intem- 
perance at  this  moment  lie  upon  this  beloved  land.  Sup- 
posing the  law  took  the  matter  in  hand  and  made  this 
general  traffick  in  ardent  spirits  dishonest  and  illegal ;  would 
not  the  people  rise  up  with  one  voice  and  call  their  rulers 
blest?" 

''  No,  I  hope  not.  Their  liberty  would  be  injured ;  such 
a  law  would  be  arbitrary." 


44  THE  senator's  son. 

"  All  laws  are  arbitrary.  They  are  not  made  for  those 
who  can  govern  themselves.  Laws  against  theft  are  not 
made  for  the  honest  man  —  against  treason,  for  him  whose 
love  of  country  burns  purely  in  his  heart  —  against  murder, 
for  the  man  of  peace  and  good  will ;  and  a  law  to  do  away 
with  intoxication  would  not  fall  upon  the  temperate  and 
those  who  did  not  need  it.  It  would  not  press  very  heav- 
ily upon  me,  for  instance  —  I  should  not  feel  it  arbitrary ; 
and  any  one  who  would  must  stand  in  want  of  it.  As  long 
as  men  must  be  governed,  let  them  have  as  many  laws  as 
are  necessary  and  just.  If  this  was  the  millenium  reign  of 
love,  when  the  lion  and  the  lamb  are  to  lie  down  together, 
we  should  not  need  these  restrictions.  Now  they  are  whole- 
some, necessary,  and  wise.  The  murderer,  pulling  against 
the  fear  of  hanging,  calls  it  an  arbitrary  check  —  the  drunk- 
ard, if  compelled  to  pull  against  the  refusal  to  gratify  his 
dangerous  craving,  would  call  it  an  arbitrary  check.  It  is 
well  for  those  who  have  no  self-control  to  be  judiciously 
controlled  in  the  spirit  of  kindness.  As  for  alcohol,  and  all 
its  Protean  diversities,  I  wish  that  the  salt  sea  held  every 
drop." 

^^  Pshaw  now,  mother,  do  not  wish  that !  I  don't !  for 
me,  I  love  wine ! —  I  always  intend  to  drink  a  little ;  and  I 
am  not  afraid  but  that  I  can  control  myself,  either,  with- 
out the  aid  of  the  law." 

Mrs.  Madison  cast  a  sad  look  at  her  beautiful  boy.  She 
thought  of  his  father's  pride  and  self-confidence,  and  she  did 
not  like  the  ominous  words  —  "I  love   wine  I  I  always  in- 


THE   senator's    SON.  45 

tend  to  drink  a  little."  Alfred  Clyde,  silently  listening  to 
this  conversation  from  the  depths  of  his  velvet  chair,  now 
turned  upon  Parke  a  keen  gaze  from  his  black  eyes,  which 
called  the  warm  blood  into  his  expressive  face,  for  they  re- 
minded him  with  something  of  the  force  of  a  cool  satire, 
of  half-a-dozen  college-revels  in  which  he  had  proved  that 
he  could  not  control  himself. 

"  Those  were  mere  boyish  freaks,"  he  said  to  himself; 
'^  I  only  drank  to  show  them  that  I  was  not  afraid  of  the 
champagne,  or  their  taunts  either.  What  does  he  want  to 
remind  me  of  that  for  V 

^<-  Come,  Alice,"  he  added  aloud,  "  tea  is  not  ready  yet; 
let  us  see  what  we  can  do  with  our  music  to  disperse  these 
bad  spirits  that  have  gathered  around  our  mother." 

Alice  was  delighted.  Passionately  fond  of  music,  sing- 
ing sweetly,  and  already  a  fairy  mistress  of  the  piano,  she 
never  enjoyed  herself  so  highly  as  when  Parke  would  join 
her  with  voice  and  flute.  She  flew  like  a  bird  and  perched 
upon  the  piano-stool.  Looking  around  at  him  as  he  came 
forward  and  took  up  his  flute,  she  laughed  her  fairy  laugh. 

"  You  need  not  boast  so  greatly  of  your  self-manage- 
ment," she  said ;  ^'  I  have  heard  mamma  tell  of  your  steal- 
ing to  the  table  after  a  dinner-party,  and  getting  a  little  out 
of  your  head  over  the  wine-glasses,  when  you  were  only  four 
years  old ;  and  of  your  coming  into  the  room,  glorying  in 
the  idea  that  Washington  was  your  papa,  and  falling  over 
an  ottoman,  and  disgracing  yourself  before  them  all. ' 

<'  Of  course  I  was  not  more  than  four  years  old,  or  I 


46  THE  senator's  son. 

should  not  have  made  such  a  fool  of  myself/'  he  replied, 
pulling  at  one  of  her  floating  curls  just  hard  enough  to 
make  her  cry  "  oh  !"  Alfred  Clyde  came  up  to  the  group 
and  leaned  his  elbows  upon  the  piano  and  his  head  upon  his 
hands,  while  the  brother  and  sister  played  a  gay  duet  and 
sang.  Then  Parke  accompanied  with  his  flute,  and  finally 
Alice  sang  alone,  a  sweet  and  mournful  melody,  aiding  her- 
self with  the  piano.  It  was  an  almost  angelic  pleasure  to 
hear  her  sing.  Alfred,  leaning  his  chin  into  his  hand, 
never  removed  his  dark  eyes  from  her  radiant  face,  as  the 
notes  with  bird-like  clearness,  united  to  human  expression, 
rose  from  her  lips  upon  the  air,  seeming  to  hover  around 
her  little,  slender  figure  a  moment,  and  then  to  soar  high, 
high  through  the  ceiling,  and  die  away  in  remote  sweetness 
through  the  sky.  Mrs.  Madison  turned  from  studying  the 
grotesque  figures  glowing  in  the  grate  and  listened  with 
closed  eyes  to  the  delightful  melody.  Then  young  Clyde  sur- 
prised and  pleased  them  all  by  sitting  down  to  the  piano  and 
playing  one  or  two  airs  in  a  fine,  bold  style,  so  difierent  from 
Alice's  exquisite  touch  ;  and  singing  in  a  rich,  sweet  tenor. 

The  tinkle  of  the  tea-bell,  less  musical,  but  probably  as 
welcome,  asserted  its  claims  to  attention,  and  the  party  be- 
took themselves  to  the  supper-room  with  cheerful  faces. 
Young  gentlemen  when  they  are  still  growing  rapidly  have, 
of  course,  a  great  respect  for  a  well-filled  table,  and  Mrs. 
Madison,  who  was  much  fatigued  with  her  afternoon's  visit, 
also  felt  the  need  of  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  By  the  way,  little  one,  have  you  grown  to  be  too  large 


THE  senator's  yoN.  47 

a  young  lady  to  think  of  hanging  up  your  stocking ;  rem  em- 
ber this  is  Christmas  Eve.'' 

^'  Santa  Glaus  has  not  been  down  our  chimney  for  two 
or  three  years,  I  believe.  Not  since  Mary  Ellis  revealed  to 
me  the  mystery  of  his  invisible  visits.  8ince  the  wonderful 
flowers  which  made  him  so  enchanting  a  character  have  fled, 
I  am  content  to  find  my  gifts  on  the  library  table,''  replied 
Alice. 

'^  I  have  a  presentiment  that  he  will  renew  his  calls  this 
night,"  continued  her  brother,  helping  himself  to  a  slice  of 
Christmas  cake.  ^^  And  if  you  sit  up  until  ten  o'clock  per- 
haps you  will  see  him.  I  don't  believe  any  of  this  nonsense 
about  there  being  no  such  personage  at  the  present  day ; 
there  certainly  was  such  a  fine  old  fellow  when  I  was  a  boy. 
Alf.  and  I  are  going  out  about  the  city  this  evening,  and  if 
I  catch  a  glimpse  of  him  on  the  top  of  some  tall  chimney,  I 
shall  just  signify  to  him  that  he  had  better  call  here." 

"Well,  do  —  do;"  cried  the  young  girl  laughing, 
"  and  I  will  hang  up  my  stocking.  Which  room  do  you 
think  he  will  make  a  descent  into  ?  because  I  should  like  to 
get  a  peep  at  him,  though  you  know  he  never  comes  until 
midnight." 

"  Pshaw  !  he  can't  visit  every  body  at  once,  and  if  he 
comes  here  it  will  be  earlier  than  that.  How  is  it,  mother, 
is  there  no  other  authorized  way  for  him  to  enter  a  dwelling 
except  through  the  chimney  ?" 

"  I  never  heard  of  any  other  way,  but  I  suppose  that 
he  would  be  welcome  if  he  came  in  most  any  manner." 


48  THE  senator's  son. 

"  Well,  Alf.,  its  nearly  seven  o'clock,  and  I  promised 
you  a  walk  about  the  city  to-night." 

The  young  gentlemen  arose  from  the  table  and  put  on 
their  caps  and  cloaks. 

'^  Oh !  now,  please  to  stay  at  home  with  mamma  and 
me,"  pleaded  Alice ;  "  just  think,  you  have  only  a  week  to 
stay,  and  I  have  hardly  visited  with  you  at  all  yet." 

"  I  should  like  too,  Alice ;  it  looks  gloriously  pleasant 
in  the  parlors,  but  you  see,"  laughing  at  her  from  under 
the  shadow  of  his  cap,  "  my  friend  Alfred  is  an  outside  bar- 
barian, fresh  from  the  wilds  of  the  west,  and  I  must  do  my 
duty  to  him,  and  show  him  the  lions." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  Parke  can  resist  you,"  said  Alfred, 
throwing  off  his  cloak,  "for  my  part,  I  do  not  believe  I 
should  find  anything  out  of  doors  to  compensate  for  what 
I  leave." 

He  looked  as  if  he  could  not  be  induced  to  leave  the 
company  he  was  in,  for  all  the  lions  out  of  Numidea.  Alice 
was  quite  flattered  by  this  preference  for  her  society,  and 
looked  with  favorable  eyes  upon  her  brother's  friend. 

"  Nonsense,  Alf.,  come  along,"  said  Parke. 

"  Are  you  not  a  little  selfish,  Alice,  in  keeping  the  boys 
at  home  so  much  ?  "  interposed  the  mother.  "  Go  if  you 
wish,  but  keep  out  of  mischief,  and  be  at  home  by  ten 
o'clock,  for  I  shall  set  up  for  you,  and  I  feel  like  retiring  in 
good  season." 

Parke  kissed  his  mother's  hand  with  an  air  of  affection 
and  respect  in  answer  to  her  kind  smile ;  Alfred  ventured 


THE    senator's    SON.  4^ 

to  kiss  his  at  Miss  Alice,  aud  the  two  youths  went  out  in 
high  spirits. 

"  ]>on't  forget  the  stocking,  Alice,"  were  Parke's  last 
words,  as  they  went  out  of  the  hall  door. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  is  in  earnest,"  remarked  the  young  girl 
as  she  came  back  to  her  mother,  after  escorting  her  beloved 
brother  almost  to  the  pavement.  "  I've  a  mind  to  put  up 
that  nice  new  stocking  which  I  have  just  finished." 

So  saying  she  fastened  it  duly  near  the  mantel-piece,  in 
the  library,  while  the  indulgent  parent  regarded  her  move- 
ments with  a  quiet  smile.  Then  both  returned  to  the  par- 
lor, where  the  child  beguiled  the  time  with  music  until  the 
clock  struck  nine.  She  had  just  taken  the  large  bible  to 
read  a  few  chapters  to  her  mother,  when  a  sound  in  the 
library  attracted  her  attention, 

"I  declare,  I  believo  it  is  Santa  Claus  himself,"  she 
said,  laying  down  the  book,  with  eyes  wide  open,  and  steal- 
ing on  tiptze  to  the  door  of  the  adjacent  room,  she  peeped 
in.  A  slight  scream  drew  Mrs.  Madison  in  the  same  direo- 
tion,  just  in  time  to  see  a  marvelous  figure  march  boldly 
out  through  the  hall,  instead  of  vanishing  up  the  chimney. 
It  had  a  very  wrinkled,  black  face,  a  bent  back,  which  had 
grown  into  its  present  large  proportions  probably  from  long 
bearing  of  the  basket  and  other  burdens  which  adorned  it ; 
a  long  white  beard,  a  short  pipe,  and  a  very  queer  little 
conical  cap.  Without  deigning  a  glance  at  the  inti'udcrs, 
whom  he  seemed  to  think  ought  to  be  a-bed,  he  marched 
out  the  door.  When  Alice  had  recovered  sufiiciently  from 
5 


50  THE    senator's    SON. 

the  alarm  caused  by  this  unexpected  apparition,  she  v^en- 
tured  to  glance  at  her  stocking,  and  behold  !  it  was  stuffed 
to  its  utmost  capacity.  Her  mother  would  not  permit  her 
to  inspect  its  contents  that  evening,  however,  saying  that  it 
was  hardly  fair,  since  they  had  caught  the  good  Saint  in  the 
very  fulfilment  of  his  kind  mission  to  endeavor  to  find  out 
the  amount  of  his  presents  until  the  intended  hour.  Alice 
returned  her  mother's  smile  with  one  of  equal  intelligence, 
and  went  to  bed  thinking,  what  indeed  she  thought  all  ♦he 
time,  that  there  never  was  so  good,  handsome,  and  mischiev- 
ous a  brother  as  her  own. 

In  the  meantime,  Santa  Claus,  as  he  left  the  house,  was 
joined  by  an  ally,  also  bearing  a  basket;  and  laughing  and 
chatting  like  very  good-natured  saints,  they  turned  down 
the  first  alley  they  came  to,  and  were  soon  trudging  along  a 
street  which  seemed  mostly  filled  by  the  habitations  of  the 
poor. 

'^  There's  Smith's,  and  Ellise's,  and  McCurdy's,  all  have 
young  ones,  lots  of  them  —  I  am  afraid  some  of  the  good 
parents  have  gone  to  bed,"  said  Santa  Claus,  as  they  paused 
before  a  door. 

"  Very  well,  we'll  make  'cm  get  up  then,"  rejoined  his 
companion,  shaking  a  string  of  bells  merily  before  the  key- 
hole. 

A  head  in  a  night-cap  soon  appeared  through  the  cau- 
tiously unclosed  door,  and  was  immediately  besieged  with  v. 
small  shower  of  paper  parcels,  and  one  great  cannon-bal)  'ii 
*he  shape  of  a  fine  dressed  turkey. 


THE   senator's   SON.  51 

"  Santa  Glaus  to  the  children/^  cried  that  personage  in 
an  unearthly  voice,  and  betook  himself  down  the  way,  fol- 
lowed by  his  aid-de-camp,  leaving  the  lucky  recipient  to 
pick  up  the  package  of  candy,  nuts,  and  toys,  which  lay 
before  her  astonished  vision. 

At  least  half  a  dozen  houses  received  a  similar  visita- 
tion 3  and  then  the  frightful-looking  imps  made  their  way 
back  to  the  toy-shop  where  they  had  received  their  outfit, 
and  having  deposited  their  empty  baskets,  they  came  out  of 
their  disguises,  two  exceedingly  merry  and  good-looking 
youths. 

"  Since  we  have  made  a  score  of  miserable  juveniles  in- 
conceivably happy  for  all  day  to-morrow,  I  presume  we  are 
at  liberty  now  to  delight  ourselves  with  whatever  we  can 
find  that  promises  the  most  fun,"  said  Alfred. 

"  Its  too  late,  Fm  afraid,  to  go  anywhere  to-night. 
Mother  expects  us  home  at  ten  o'clock,  and  its  nearly  that 
now." 

"  Then  I  must  say  we've  fooled  away  the  time  ridicu- 
lously so  far ;  wasted  it  on  those  dirty  little  rascals.'^ 

''  I've  enjoyed  it  very  much,"  replied  Parke,  laughing 
as  he  glanced  at  the  mask  he  had  thrown  aside ;  "  and  I 
shall  enjoy  it  to-morrow,  thinking  of  the  pleasure  we  have 
given." 

'•''  Well,  you're  a  fine,  philanthropic  youth,  mother's  own 
darling,"  said  the  other,  a  little  scornfully. 

^^  I  should  be  proud  if  I  thought  I  was  half  as  good  as 
my  mc'ther,"  said  Parke,  his  blue  eyes  kindling. 


THE   senator's    SON.  52 

"  Oh,  of  course,  so  would  I  j  I  did  not  mean  anything 
else.  But  pshaw,  your  mother  will  not  wait  for  us,  and  we 
might  as  well  see  what  is  to  be  seen.  It  is  not  often  that 
there  is  as  much  to  attract  us  as  now.'' 

"  Come  on,  then,  I  will  be  your  chaperon,"  said  Parke, 
and  taking  his  friend's  J^rm,  they  walked  slowly  up  the 
brilliant  and  fashionable  thorough-fare.  New  York  had  on 
her  holiday  attire.  The  shop  windows  blazed  with  light, 
displaying  their  costly  treasures. 

Crowds  of  gay  and  happy-looking  people  were  yet  mov- 
ing along  the  pavement.  There  chanced  to  be  very  respect- 
able sleighing  too,  and  the  wide  street  was  a  bewildering 
chaos  of  innumerable  vehicles  of  all  kinds  that  could  be 
fastened  upon  runners,  winding  swiftly  through  apparently 
impenetrable  ways ;  of  tinkling  bells,  merry  laughter,  shouts, 
prancing  horses  gayly  caparisoned,  and  ambitious  drivers. 

The  churches  were  brilliantly  illuminated,  and  those 
who  had  thronged  them  to  do  reverence  to  the  solemnity  of 
the  Eve,  now  poured  out  of  their  doors  and  mingled  with 
the  crowd. 

Enjoying  all  these  sights  and  sounds  with  the  intensity 
belonging  to  the  minds  of  students  during  the  holidays, 
they  sauntered  along  until  arrested  upon  a  crossing  by  a 
shout  from  a  passing  sleigh. 

"  Halloo  !  Parke  Madison !  we  did  not  know  you  were* 
home  from  school.     You're  the  very  fellow  we  want ;  jumj 
in,  wc  are  going  out  to  Cross'  to  have  a  time." 

There  were  a  dozen  or  more  young  gentlemen  alreadj 


THE  senator's  son.  53 

in  the  sleigh,  all  looking  the  picture  of  fun.  They  had 
four  spirited  horses  and  countless  strings  of  hells.  The 
temptation  was  strong;  but  Parke  thought  of  his  mother, 
and  hesitated. 

"  What  kind  of  a  time  ?  '^  he  asked. 

^'  Nothing  that  will  injure  your  spotless  good  name/* 
was  the  reply."     ''  Only  a  supper,  and  home  again." 

^'  For  mercy's  sake,  go,"  whispered  Alfred,  impatiently ; 
"  you  are  the  greatest  baby  out  of  its  nurse's  arms." 

"Of  course  my  friend  is  included  in  the  invitation,"  said 
Parke,  as  he  climbed  into  the  sleigh :  "  Mr.  Clyde,  gentle- 
men, a  classmate  of  mine,  and  the  best  fellow  ever  punished 
with  a  Greek  grammar." 

"  The  more  the  merrier  ! "  cried  all ',  and  Alfred  Clyde 
made  a  very  courteous  bow  and  a  very  pretty  speech,  as 
they  noisily  made  room  for  him. 

"Drive  on!"  shouted  they,  the  next  moment;  and 
away  they  went  up  the  brilliant  street,  out  into  the  more 
gloomy  suburbs  and  on  into  the  country,  where  the  only 
lights  were  stars.  Gaslight  or  starlight,  it  was  all  one 
to  them;  they  abated  not  jollity  and  noise  until  in  about 
an  hour  and  a  quarter  they  drew  up  at  Cross',  twelve  miles 
from  town. 

This  was  not  the  first  party  which  had  arrived  at  that 
hotel  during  the  evening,  sleighing  being  so  brief  a  luxury 
as  to  be  well  enjoyed  while  it  lasted.  As  these  gentlemen 
had  no  ladies  with  them,  and  were  bent  upon  having  '  a 
time,'  the  affable  host  gave  them  a  fine,  large  room  to  them- 
5* 


51  THE    senator's    SOX. 

selves,  with  the  injunction  only  not  to  disturb  other  guests 
in  their  frolics. 

Such  a  supper  as  they  caused  to  be  served  was  worthy  of 
the  occasion.  Wild  turkey  and  canvass-back  ducks,  with 
art-compounded  aalads,  oysters,  and  champagne,  were  but  a 
few  of  the  items  of  their  costly  feast.  The  great  fireplace 
blazing  with  hickory,  the  luxurious  table,  and  *the  choice 
wines,  promised  a  glorious  night. 

Unfortunately  for  Parke,  his  friends  were  not  as  pure- 
minded  and  innocent  of  bad  habits  as  himself;  young  aris- 
tocrats though  they  were,  they  did  not  disdain  the  chance 
of  '  plucking'  a  wealthy  ^  pigeon'  like  him,  and  at  supper 
they  rallied  him  into  drinking  more  wine  than  was  prudent. 
He  knew  it  all  the  time ;  he  knew  that  a  little  afiected  him, 
and  that  after  tasting  it  he  could  not  always  control  his  in- 
dulgence in  it;  but  he  could  not  endure  to  be  thought  a 
simpleton  or  a  puritan  by  the  rest,  and  so,  when  he  had 
most  need  to  think  of  them,  he  forgot  all  about  his  gentle- 
faced  mother  and  his  darling  young  sister.  He  was  much 
the  most  intoxicated  of  any  who  left  the  table.  At  first  he 
had  only  been  witty  and  amusing,  but  he  grew  more  boister- 
ous than  agreeable,  and  his  remarks  were  more  stupid  than 
pointed.  They  were  received  with  the  same  unmeaning 
eclat ;  wit  or  silliness  are  either  in  favor  with  a  party  of 
fools. 

One  would  hardly  have  known  the  fair,  spiritual  face 
leaning  up  against  his  mother's  lap  that  afternoon,  with  its 
clear,  pure  eyes  and  shining  curls,  as  the  flushed  counte- 


THE    SENATOR  S    SON.  50 

nauce,  now  debased  from  its  look  of  intelligence,  witli 
glassy  eyes  and  a  smile  of  unmeaning  good-nature. 

Alfred  Clyde  had  toyed  with  his  glasses  in  a  more  care- 
ful manner.  Not  making  himself  conspicuous,  except  by  an 
occasional  brilliant  sally,  independent  but  courteous  in  his 
bearing,  and  showing  that  he  knew  how  to  take  care  of  him- 
self, with  a  perfect  at-homeness  in  scenes  like  these,  he  won 
golden  opinions  from  the  society  into  which  he  considered 
himself  very  fortunate  to  have  been  introduced- 

He  did  not  warn  Parke,  as  he  might  have  done,  against 
his  perils ;  but  when  cards  were  brought  out,  and  he  saw 
intelligent  boks  among  those  who  were  inducing  his  friend 
to  play  with  them,  he  spoke  up  in  a  calm  tone,  that  carried 
with  it  a  firm  conviction  of  his  courage. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  must  claim  my  friend  as  m^  partner 
this  evening.  He  knows  but  little  about  a  game,  neither 
do  I,  so  we  will  be  well  matched.'' 

There  was  no  demurring  to  his-  polite  manner;  the 
party  thought  it  a  very  disinterested  act  of  kindness  to  keep 
the  game  out  of  their  hands,  but  submitted  with  tolerable 
grace,  and  Parke  played  only  with  him.  Notwithstanding 
his  declaration  that  he  was  an  indifferent  player,  he  won  all 
of  Parke's  money,  and,  lastly,  a  beautiful  and  expensive 
watch  which  he  wore. 

The  sun  was  streaking  the  east  with  the  first  glow  of 
Christmas  morning,  when  the  revellers  found  themselves  in 
town  again.  Mrs.  Madison  had  remained  up  until  after 
midnight,  and  then  retired  with  some  uneasy  feelings.    She 


50  THE  senator's  son. 

heard  the  Doys  come  in  at  day-break  and  go  to  their  room, 
and  after  that  she  had  a  long  sleep.  It  was  late  when 
breakfast  was  placed  on  the  table,  but  it  had  to  wait  some 
time  lor  the  young  gentlemen ;  and  Alice  had  abundance 
of  time  to  admire  the  good  gifts  of  Santa  Clans.  Parko 
could  not  help  blushing  vividly  when  he  entered  his 
mother's  presence,  and  met  her  anxious,  searching  look; 
Alfi-ed  was  polite  and  self-possessed  as  usual.  It  was  not 
until  the  blush  had  died  away  that  Mrs.  Madison  discov- 
ered her  son's  pale  and  weary  looks. 

"  You  were  out  all  night/'  she  said,  in  a  tone  which 
seemed  to  require  an  explanation,  as  she  handed  him  his 
coffee. 

"^  Why  the  truth  is,  dear  mother,"  he  began  in  a  con- 
fused voice,  ^'  that  we  met  a  party  of  my  best  friends  going 
out  to  Cross'  for  a  sleigh-ride,  and  we  were  tempted  to  go 
along.  There  we  stayed  for  supper,  and  it  made  us  rather 
late.     I  hope  that  you  did  not  wait  for  us." 

"  Only  until  twelve  o'clock.  It  seems  to  me  you  look 
ill  this  morning  —  is  anything;  the  matter  ?" 

^^  Well  I"  with  another  blush,  "  I  believe  I  took  a  con- 
founded cold,  for  my  head  aches  horribly.  I  wasn't  very 
well  wrapped  up  you  know,  as  we  only  went  out  for  a 
walk." 

Parke  glanced  at  Alf.  as  he  made  this  explanation,  and 
saw  him  very  demurely  breaking  an  egg  into  his  glass. 

"  Poor  Parke,  I  pity  you,"  said  Alice,  bending  her  large 
ey-es   tenderly  upon  his  pale   countenance ;    ^^  shall  I  tell 


THE   senator's   SON.  .  57 

Bridget  to  make  you  a  cup  of  strong  tea  ?  —  it  is  good  for 
headache. 

^^  I  don't  care  if  you  do, —  that's  a  good  sister." 

"  I  think,  myself,  it  will  be  a  fine  thing  for  him/'  added 
young  Clyde,  raising  his  keen  glance  from  the  egg-dish. 

The  child  sped  to  the  kitchen  on  her  mission  of  kind- 
ness ;  then  returning  to  her  plate  and  the  engrossing  sub- 
ject of  her  thoughts,  she  cried,  with  an  arch  look  — 

^^  Santa  Claus  did  pay  me  a  visit  last  night !" 

*'  Ah ! "  said  the  brother  innocently,  "  did  he  find  a 
stocking  —  and  what  did  he  bring  you  ?  " 

"  He  must  have  guessed  what  I  wanted  most,  for  these 
were  the  very  things  he  brought  m.e,  A  beautiful  little 
gold-bound  prayer-book,  just  the  right  size  —  a  pair  of  ear- 
rings to  match  with  my  necklace,  and  a  silver  paper-folder, 
besides  enough  confectionary  to  last  till  New  Year's,  and 
the  drollest  little  man  laughing  at  me  from  the  top  of  the 
stocking.'^ 

"  A  bountiful  saint,"  said  Park<* 

"  May  I  be  allowed  to  in^ire  whether  you  had  a 
glimpse  of  his  saintship  ?"  asked  Alfred. 

^'Yes,  I  did  —  I  did!"  cried  Alice,  laughing  at  the  re- 
membrance. 

"  You  were  not  frightened  I  suppose  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  quickly,  and  colored  a  little,  to  think 
of  her  screaming  out  tho  previous  night. 

"  I  was  rather  astonished  at  the  first  peep  I  took  of 
him.     Such  a  horrid-looking  saint  may  I  never  see  again  ! 


58  THE  senator's  son. 

But  he  was  as  good  as  he  was  ugly,"  and  her  eye  rested 
affectionately  upon  her  adored  brother. 

"  I  saw  a  strange-looking  being,  which  might  have  been 
him,  paying  visits  to  all  those  little  wretches  that  you  were 
telling  us  about  yesterday,  that  wouldn't  have  any  Christ- 
mas, because  they  were  so  poor.  Had  he  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  was  he  very  bent  in  the  back,  and  with  a  long, 
white  beard  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  did  he  walk  a  little  lame,  and  have  a  very  queer, 
black  face,  and  wear  a  funny  cap,  and  look  like  —  Old 
Nick?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  was  Santa  Claus  without  doubt.  What 
was  he  doing,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Ah !  he  was  making  a  Christmas  for  the  little  children 
you  have  condescended  to  notice  with  new  pairs  of  shoes. 
Such  papers  of  raisins  and  almonds  —  such  chickens  and 
turkeys  —  such  little  bundles  of  sugar  and  tea,  proved  him 
to  be  a  most  worthy  and  liberal  old  fellow." 

"  Did  you  indeed  do  all  that  ?"  asked  Alice,  when  Al- 
fred had  finished  his  story,  coming  around  to  her  brother, 
and  laying  her  arms  softly  about  his  neck.  "  What  a  good 
boy  you  are  ! " 

"  Me  ! "  he  replied  in  affected  surprise ;  "Am  I  then 
such  a  fright  of  a  fellow  as  all  that  comes  to." 

His  sister's  kiss,  the  cup  of  green  tea,  and  the  recollec- 


THE    SENATOR* S    SON.  59 

tion  of  his  innocent  frolic  in  the  early  part  of  the  preceding 
evening,  made  Parke  a  little  more  reconciled  to  himself, 
though  a  sense  of  guilt  still  made  him  feel  uneasy  under  the 
eye  of  his  mother.  It  was  a  feeling  of  relief  with  which  he 
flung  himself  upon  the  sofa  after  she  and  Alice  went  out  to 
attend  morning  service  in  their  church,  his  headache  excus- 
ing him  from  that  duty,  and  Clyde  staying  at  home  to  keep 
him  company. 

^^  I  am  heartily  ashamed  of  myself  and  perfectly  miser- 
able," he  said,  with  tears  of  contrition,  as  Alfred  seated  him- 
self before  his  sofa,  and  mockingly  felt  the  pulse  in  his 
wrist,  '^  To  think  of  boasting  about  self-control,  and  mak- 
ing a  sot  of  myself  the  very  same  night.  Oh  !  if  mother 
should  hear  of  it.^^ 

"  Fve  always  told  you  it  wouldn't  do  for  you  to  take 
wine,"  replied  his  companion  coolly;  "you  like  it  too  well. 
Now  /can  play  with  the  fire  and  not  get  burned,  but  Td 
advise  you  to  be  a  little  more  prudent,  my  dear  Parke." 

"  Why  didn't  you  advise  me  last  night  ?  —  you  sat  be- 
side me." 

"  Oh,  I  wanted  to  witness  your  ability  for  self-protec- 
tion, you  know ;  it  would  have  been  arbitrary  for  me  to 
have  interfered." 

"  Now  don't  be  sarcastic,  if  you  please,  for  my  head 
aches  so  that  I  can't  stand  it.  By  the  way,"  after  a  pause, 
"  do  you  know  who  I  lost  my  watch  to,  last  night  ?  I  must 
have  that  back  if  I  have  to  redeem  it  with  a  thousana  dol- 
lars.    That  was  my  father's  watch,  Alf." 


60  THE    senator's   SON. 

"  You  need  not  fret  about  that/'  said  his  friend  with  a 
smile/'iLwas  I  who  won  it^  and  I  have  it  safe  for  you  in  the 
dressing-case  up  stairs.  I  only  took  it  to  show  you  what 
would  have  been  your  fate  if  you  had  played  with  any  one 
else.  The  fact  is  you  know  nothing  about  a  game,  as  I've 
often  told  you,  and  those  older  scamps  knew  it,  and  meant  to 
make  you  their  victim.  You  are  young  and  rich.  I  would 
not  allow  you  to  play  with  any  one  but  myself." 

"  Then  you  won  my  money  too  ? '' 

*^  Yes,  and  here  it  is,"  producing  a  roll  of  bills  from  his 
pocket.  "  Its  rgainst  my  principles  to  gamble,  and  so  I 
return  it  to  you  with  a  little  advice  to  be  more  wise  in 
future." 

"  Fie  !  you  know  that  I  would  not  bo  guilty  of  accept- 
ing it,^'  said  Parke,  putting  back  the  money  with  his  hand. 
"I'm  a  thousand  times  obliged  to  you  about  the  watch) 
and  I  will  be  more  careful  hereafter." 

"  Yery  well.  It  ought  to  be  some  consolation  to  you  to 
know  that  it  will  be  made  good  use  of.  It  could  not  have 
fallen  to  any  one  who  needed  it  as  much,"  and  with  a  sat- 
isfied look,  young  Clyde  put  the  bills  back  into  his  own 
pocket.  "  If  you  are  in  need  of  anything  before  you  re- 
ceive another  supply,  just  borrow  of  me,"  he  continued ; 
"  and  now  that  I  am  so  rich,  I  must  think  of  something 
that  will  please  sweet  Alice.  She's  a  heavenly  little  creature, 
that  sister  of  yours,  Parke,  both  in  beauty  and  disjwsition.'^ 

"  She  is  indeed,"  replied  the  brother,  getting  up  from 
bi^' pillow  and  looking  quite  restored  to  health,     "You 


THE  senator's  s^n,  61 

liavn't  any  sister  have  yon,  Alf.  ?  then  you  cannot  imagine 
how  I  love  that  child.  I  would  not  have  her  hear  anything 
to  make  her  love  me  loss  for  the  world.  I  shall  always  be 
a  good  man  for  her  sake  —  that  is,  after  I've  got  over  these 
confounded  college  scrapes.  I  hope  when  she  is  grown  a 
little  older  that  you  will  both  fall  in  love  with  each  other, 
and  be  married.     That's  a  glorious  idea,  isn't  it?" 

^'  Too  bright  —  too  beautiful  to  last !  But,"  with  sud- 
den earnestness,  "  I  hope  you'll  remember  that,  Parke,  and 
that  my  consent  is  already  gained.  The  lady,  I  am  afraid, 
will  not  look  upon  the  matter  with  such  favorable  eyes.'' 

"  Any  one  that  I  love  will  have  a  claim  upon  her  affec- 
tions, said  the  brother ;  "  my  pretty,  pretty  Alice  ! " 

*^  Sister's  hearts  take  stubborn  fancies  sometimes,'^  re- 
sponded Alfred,  and  then  he  fell  into  a  reverie.  A  sudden 
fire  glowed  in  his  black  eyes,  deep  down,  as  if  he  were  forg- 
ing some  future  purpose  in  the  furnace  of  thought.  Parke 
subsided  into  a  light  slumber,  leaving  him  free  to  work  out 
his  ideas )  and  he  sat  silently  musing  until  the  return  of 
the  ladies  from  church. 

And  now,  while  he  is  lost  in  thought,  it  will  be  a  good 
time  for  us  to  inquire  a  little  into  his  character  and  history. 

His  parents  died  when  he  was  about  fourteen,  leaving 
him  a  poor  inheritance.  From  his  father,  who  was  a  spec- 
ulator, and  living  magnificently  died  in  poverty,  he  inherited 
a  love  of  luxury,  a  scheming,  crafty  mind,  a  hard  heart, 
much  physical  courage,  an  empty  purse,  and  beautiful,  slen- 
der hands  and  feet,  of  which  he  was  secretly  vain.  From 
6 


62  THE  senator's  som. 

his  mother  he  inherited  a  portion  of  her  dark,  scuthern 
beauty,  of  her  impressable  fancy,  of  her  pride,  her  indo- 
lence, and  her  love  of  loveliness  as  revealed  in  the  human 
form,  in  works  of  art  or  scenes  of  nature.  This  latter  pas- 
sion tinged  his  otherwise  hard  character  with  a  glow  of  po- 
etry, and  enabled  him  to  show  a  fine  enthusiasm  on  many 
occasions,  which  concealed  the  cold  depths  of  his  heart,  as 
sunlight  playing  over  the  ocean  conceals  its  darkness  and 
chilliness.  He  was  always  older  than  his  years  in  cautious 
reserve  and  prudent  calculations;  and  when  at  fifteen  he 
found  himself  thrown  upon  his  own  resources,  he  came  to  a 
set  determination  that  he  would  not  labor  for  a  living.  His 
pride,  indolence,  and  love  of  splendor  all  cried  out  against 
it.  "  Better  not  live  at  all  than  to  drudge  through  life  with 
the  common  herd,"  was  his  conclusion;  and  turning  over 
in  his  mind  all  feasible  projects  for  establishing  himself  as  a 
drone  in  the  bee-hive  of  society,  his  plans  reverted  to  an  old 
bachelor  uncle,  living  in  an  eastern  State,  who  was  only  as 
wealthy  as  he  was  penurious. 

"  I  always  wondered  what  that  old  miser  was  hoarding 
up  his  money  for,  and  now  I  know  that  it  was  for  my  par- 
ticular benefit,"  was  his  mental  soliloquy. 

Having  settled  this  matter  to  his  own  satisfaction,  he 
left  his  birth-place  in  a  western  city  and  managed  to  intro- 
duce himself  to  his  uncle.  He  was  looked  upon  with  suspi- 
cious eyes  by  Mr.  Benjamin  Clyde,  who  regarded  all  his 
relations  as  vultures  waiting  to  prey  upon  his  dead  body. 
But  the  boy  had  a  winning  way  with  him,  and  as  he  care- 


THE  senator's  son.  63 

fully  concealed  his  expectations  of  aid,  and  only  asked  his 
advice  as  to  what  pursuit  he  could  engage  in  to  procure  him 
an  honest  living,  his  uncle  promised  to  make  some  efforts  in 
his  behalf. 

"  The  truth  is,  uncle,"  said  Alfred,  with  a  very  grave 
face,  "  that  it  will  be  pretty  hard  for  a  boy  of  my  age,  with- 
out parents,  friends  or  money,  to  work  his  way  up  to  the 
station  a  Clyde  should  occupy.  But  I  am  going  to  do  my 
best.  Sir ;  and  as  I  know  you  better  capable  of  giving  ad- 
vice than  any  one  else,  and  as  a  child  naturally  feels  a  yearn- 
ing after  some  kind  of  kindred,"  with  something  like  a  tear, 
"  I  have  come  to  you,  to  ask  for  your  counsel.  I've  a 
pretty  good  pair  of  hands  to  work  with,  and  I  shall  use 
them,  Sir." 

"  A  little  too  delicate  !  not  quite  the  right  color,"  said 
the  old  gentleman  with  a  short  glance  at  the  white,  tape" 
fingers. 

^'  I  can  soon  alter  their  color,  uncle,  if  that's  all." 

"  Well,  I  have  a  friend,  owner  of  a  large  store,  wants  an 
under  clerk.  Now  you  can  get  that  situation,  and  if  you 
please  your  employers  can  work  your  way  up,  and  probably 
sometime  be  a  partner  in  the  concern.  If  it  suits  you,  I 
will  see  that  he  accepts  you." 

^^  You  are  very  kind,  and  I  shall  always  remember  the 
interest  you  have  taken  in  your  poor  nephew.  But  I  am 
ambitious  —  proud  as  the  rest  of  the  Clydes,  Sir;  and  if 
you  can  propose  anything  at  which  I  can  support  myself, 
and  at  the  same  time  acquire  an  education  that  would  fit  me 


64  THE  senator's  son. 

for  your  profession,  Sir,  I  should  indeed  like  it.  I  have  a 
bent,  I  believe,  for  the  law,  uncle,  and  perhaps  might  not 
become  an  unworthy  member  of  the  bar  which  you  have 
(distinguished.  It  has  proved  a  harvest,  from  which  you 
l-ave  reaped  golden  sheaves,  too,  has  it  not  ?  ^^ 

In  short,  Benjamin  Clyde  was  induced  to  consider  his 
Dephew  in  the  light  of  a  youth  who  was  very  anxious  to  do 
something  for  himself,  with  commendable  ambition,  energy, 
and  pride.  The  spirit  of  family  glory  which  had  nearly 
been  smothered  in  bags  of  gold  was  aroused,  and  he  resolved 
that  so  fine  a  young  Clyde  must  have  an  education  which 
would  qualify  him  to  do  well  for  himself  in  the  world.  He 
was  secretly  pleased,  too,  at  the  thought  of  his  nephew 
stepping  into  his  shoes  when  he  should  retire  from  practice, 
which  he  designed  soon  to  do ;  and  it  may  be  that  into  his 
desolate  old  heart  there  stole  some  warmth  of  affection  for 
this  orphaned  relative. 

Alfred's  first  grand  manoeuvre  for  himself  was  success- 
ful. In  a  few  weeks  he  was  in  college,  for  which  he  was 
prepared  before  the  death  of  his  parents.  It  is  true  that  he 
was  kept  upon  an  extremely  moderate  allowance  of  pocket- 
money,  much  smaller  than  his  love  of  display  could  be  con- 
tented with;  but  this  only  induced  him  to  find  out  ways 
and  means  for  increasing  it.  It  was  his  purpose  to  be  the 
envy  and  pride  of  his  associates,  to  pass  through  school 
with  tolerable  credit,  and  then  to  settle  down  at  his  ease  in 
his  uncle's  office.  As  for  studying  severely  or  becoming 
profoundly  versed  in  the  law,  he  did  not  think  of  it.     He 


THE  senator's  son.  65 

hoped  that,  by  the  time  he  had  trifled  away  a  few  years 
in  pretended  industry,  the  old  gentleman  would  drop  off, 
and  leave  him  in  exulting  possession  of  his  close-hoarded 
wealth. 

In  the  meantime,  being,  like  many  city  boys,  old  in 
vice,  and  already  an  expert  gamester,  many  of  his  fellow- 
students  became  his  victims  in  a  small  way,  and  he  kept  his 
purse  so  well  replenished  as  to  keep  up  with  the  most  ex- 
travagant. He  had  so  much  tact,  and  affected  so  much 
generosity,  that  his  comrades  thought  his  success  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  him.  He  passed  for  the  heir  to  a  large 
estate,  beside  being  the  jprotegi  of  an  immensely  wealthy 
old  uncle ;  so  that  whatever  he  chose  to  do  was  winked  at, 
and  he  was  toadyedtoan  unlimited  extent,  which  was  just 
what  most  pleased  his  selfish  vanity. 

He  had  been  in  College  but  a  short  time  when  Parke 
Madison  arrived.  As  the  son  of  a  late  distinguished  sena- 
tor, the  descendant  of  an  old  aristocratic  faniily,  and  the 
heir  of  wealth  and  station,  he  more  than  rivaled  the  dark 
Cincinnatian  in  his  claims  to  attention.  By  his  beauty, 
gentleness,  and  goodness,  he  won  universal  love,  and  by  his 
talents  universal  admiration.  He  was  the  pet  of  the  learned 
professors  as  well  as  of  the  students.  Alfred  was  no  lon- 
ger the  lion  of  the  academic  groves.  He  submitted  with 
excellent  grace,  making  advances  towards  the  warmest 
friendship  with  the  stranger.  They  were  classmates,  and 
together  they  buffeted  their  way  through  the  junior,  senior, 
and  sophomore  degrees.  Parke  returned  Clyde's  friendship 
G* 


66  THE  sknator's  son. 

with  ardent  affection,  about  which  there  was  not  a  shadow 
of  falsehood.  Honest  and  warm-hearted  himself,  he  thought 
the  same  of  every  one  else.  Alfred  was  so  confidential 
with  him  as  to  reveal  to  him  that  he  was  a  poor  boy,  de- 
pendent upon  the  charity  of  a  niggardly  uncle  for  an  edu- 
cation; and  often  complained  bitterly  of  his  privations. 
He  knew  that  in  +;Le  frank  soul  of  a  noble  fellow  like  young 
Madison,  it  would  awaken  sympathy,  and  strengthen  the 
bonds  of  their  attachment ;  and  he  was  often  able  to  turn 
it  to  the  best  account.  If  he  wished  to  borrow  a  small 
amount,  it  was  heartily  given,  without  a  thought  of  asking 
for  it  again.  The  sin  and  shame  of  this  intimacy  was,  that 
Alfred,  instead  of  protecting  his  younger  companion  from 
the  temptations  which  surrounded  him  to  secret  dissipation, 
craftily  led  him  on,  and  while  he  seemed  to  be  keeping  him 
from  the  hands  of  others,  always  let  him  fall  into  his  own. 
He  had  great  skill  in  concealing  all  infringements  of  college 
rules  of  his  own  or  Parke's  from  the  eyes  and  ears  of  the 
professors;  laying  his  friend  under  tearful  obligations  to 
him  for  preserving  his  character,  and  keeping  his  occasions! 
frolics  from  the  knowledge  of  his  mother. 

It  was  in  the  third  year  of  their  college  life  that  Parke 
had  permission  from  Mrs.  Madison  to  bring  his  friend  home 
with  him.  More  skilled  in  reading  the  characters  of  others 
than  her  son,  she  was  disappointed  in  the  impression  Alfred 
made  upon  her  mind.  She  liked  his  manners,  wit,  and  ap- 
parent modesty ;  yet  he  did  not  gain  her  confidence.  Some- 
thing in  his  eye  betrayed  guile,  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth 


THE    senator's    SON.  67 

told  of  craftiness.  Thinking  him  a  young  man  of  excellent 
habits  and  character,  she  said  nothing  to  Parke,  but  that 
she  was  entirely  pleased  with  him. 

"How  is  your  headache,  Parke?''  was  his  sister's  first 
question,  as  she  came  in  with  her  mother  from  church. 

'^  Oh,  its  quite  gone,  I  thank  you.  I  have  had  the 
nicest  sleep ;  and  now  I'm  ready  for  any  quantity  of  Christ- 
mas pie,  pudding,  and  fun.  Look  here,  Allie,  I've  been 
making  Alf.  a  holiday  present :  guess  what  it  was  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  —  you  had  better  tell  me." 

'^  Its  altogether  the  most  precious  thing  that  I  possess.'* 

"  Perhaps  its  your  watch  and  chain  ?" 

^^  No,  indeed.  I  think  enough  of  those ;  but  its  worthy 
twenty  watches." 

Her  brother  regarded  her  puzzled  face  with  a  very 
merry  look.  She  turned  from  him  to  Alfred,  and  perhaps 
she  read  the  secret  in  his  eyes,  for  the  color  began  to 
deepen  in  her  cheeks. 

"  You  haven't  given  me  away  ?"  she  asked,  gravely. 

"  Yes,  I  have.  I  have  given  my  only  sister  to  my 
adopted  brother.  Isn't  that  generous  ?  You  must  remem- 
ber it  when  you  get  to  be  a  young  lady,  Allie,  and  not 
smile  with  those  bright  eyes  upon  any  one  else.  Give  him 
your  hand  in  token  of  consent,  and  we'll  consider  the  affair 
settled." 

Alice  put  her  little  hand  into  the  white  hand  held  out 
to  her. 

*'  I  shall  not  give  my  consent,"  she  said,  smiling  seri- 


G8  THE  senator's  son. 

ously;  but  I  will  promise  to  think  about  it.  I  have  no 
doubt  I  shall  see  some  one  I  love  better.'^ 

^^  Nay,  little  Alice,  you  must  not  do  that,"  said  Alfred, 
kissing  ner  fingers  with  a  respectful,  gallant  air. 

^'  But  if  I  cannot  help  it  ? ''  she  asked. 

"  Then  you  will  have  broken  my  heart;  for  from  this 
moment  I  shall  have  no  lady-love  save  you.  You  have  be- 
come the  star  of  my  destiny  —  the  '  bright,  particular  star^ 
—  the  arbitress  of  my  fate  —  the  saint  of  the  shrine  at 
which  I  kneel.  Your  presence  will  be  the  Eden-land  to- 
wards which  I  shall  journey,  —  the  light  of  your  eyes,  the 
beacon-fire  leading  me  on  to  happiness,  —  the  sound  of  your 
voice,  the  music  for  which  I  pine,  —  the  hope  of  your  love, 
the  crowning  glory  of  my  existence : 

*' '  Like  a  shrine  'mid  rocks  forsaken 

"Whence  the  oracle  hath  fled, — 

Like  a  harp  -which  none  might  waken 

But  a  mighty  master  dead, — 

Like  a  vase  of  perfume  scattered, 
t 

Such  would  my  spirit  be  ; 

So  mute,  so  void,  so  shattered, 

Bereft  of  thee ! '  " 

"  Bravo !  Alf.,  you  are  eloquent  beyond  your  years,'' 
cried  Parke,  laughing  at  his  friend's  affected  air  of  tragic 
sentiment.  "  You  woo  with  the  grace  of  an  Apollo  instead 
of  the  becoming  timidity  of  a  sophomore. '^ 

"  It  is  well  enough  to  practice  a  little  even  now,"  was 


THE   senator's   SON.  69 

the  reply.  "  Despite  my  eloquence,  you  see  that  I  am  not 
very  successful,  for  the  frightened  fairy  has  flown  to  the 
piano  to  take  refuge  from  my  pathetic  invocation  of  Mrs. 
Heman's  muse,  deigning  me  only  a  saucy  shake  of  her 
pretty  head.  Come  back,  lady  Alice,  and  play  back- 
gammon with  me,  and  by  my  faith,  as  a  knight,  I  will  no 
further  declare  my  love  for  you  until  I  can  kneel  at  your 
feet,  and  offer  there,  not  golden  spurs,  or  glittering  stars, 
but  the  pride  of  a  college-youth  —  my  diploma." 

Alice  came  shyly  back  at  his  bidding,  and  they  played 
a  little  while,  until  summoned  to  the  sumptuous  dinner 
which  graced  the  Christmas  board. 

After  dinner  the  young  gentlemen  went  down  town,  and 
stopping  at  a  jeweler's,  Alfred  purchased  a  beautiful  ring 
for  his  little  betrothed,  as  he  called  her.  Parke  wished  very 
much  to  buy  something  elegant  for  his  mother  — 'but,  alas  ! 
the  very  profuse  supply  which  had  been  allowed  him  for  the 
holidays  was  already  gone,  and  he  had  not  the  wherewithal 
to  get  for  her  the  smallest  gift.  He  said  nothing  to  Alfred, 
who  was  making  a  great  display  of  his  money.  He  was  se- 
cretly a  little  displeased  with  his  friend's  manner,  and  still 
was  angry  with  himself  for  his  last  night's  folly. 

The  ensuing  week  flew  rapidly  by,  bringing  New  Year's 
the  happiest  holiday  of  all.  The  sleighing  was  still  good, 
for  a  wonder ;  and  New  York  was  alive  with  gayety  and 
merriment.  Many  of  the  poor  and  suffering  were  made 
glad  by  the  thoughtful  kindness  of  the  benevolent  —  but 
oh !  how  few  compared  with  those  who  might  have  shared 


70  THE   senator's   SON. 

in  the  common  rejoicingj  had  the  majority  of  the  rich  and 
happy  taken  note  of  them. 

Alice  had  a  children's  party  in  the  evening.  Mrs.  Mad- 
ison knew  well  how  to  make  little  people  enjoy  themselves ; 
and  Parke,  who  had  faithfully  avoided  temptation,  was  the 
delight  of  the  whole  flock  of  young  people.  Alfred,  too,  ex- 
erted himself  to  be  agreeable.  He  with  the  piano,  and 
Parke  with  the  flute,  made  good  music  for  them  to  dance 
to ;  an4  Alfred  was  quite  successful  in  introducing  amusing 
games.  There  were  some  at  the  party  who  were  as  old  as 
the  two  boys,  and  all  the  way  down  to  little  Rose  Parish, 
who  was  but  four,  and  danced  like  a  sprite.  Alice  was  as 
happy  as  she  well  could  be;  she  took  an  opportunity  after 
supper  to  thank  the  boys  for  their  important  help  in  enter- 
taining her  company.  Mrs.  Madison,  with  her  sweet,  grave 
face,  and  gentle  manner,  was  constantly  surrounded  with 
groups  of  children ;  and  her  little  daughter  was  delighted  to 
see  the  love  and  pleasure  with  which  she  was  regarded. 

The  brightest  days  must  come  to  a  close;  and  even  this 
long  evening  had  to  do  the  same.  The  visitors  were  sent 
home  weary,  but  still  in  high  spirits.  The  young  gentlemen 
went  to  bed  with  a  sigh  of  regret  that  their  holiday  was  over, 
and  to-morrow  they  must  hie  back  to  their  musty  books. 

Early  the  next  morning  they  were  gone,  leaving  Alice 
crying  heartily  by  the  window,  and  kissing  her  hands  to 
them  as  long  as  they  could  look  back,  as  they  trudged  on 
foot  down  to  the  rail-road  depot,  while  John  followed  on 
with  their  carpet-bags. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A  VERY  young  girl  of  exquisite  beauty  sat  by  an  opcD 
window^  looking  off  upon  a  garden,  blooming  with  roses  and 
the  thousand  fragrant  flowers  that  unclose  in  the  month  of 
June.  Fifteen  such  glowing  Junes  might  have  passed  over 
her  bright  brow.  Her  form  was  round  and  slender,  with 
an  ctherial  grace  in  all  its  movements ;  her  classic  head  wasi 
set  daintily  upon  her  beautiful  neck,  giving  a  spirited, 
proud  look  to  a  countenance  which  was  otherwise  all  sweet- 
ness. Her  forehead  was  fair  as  an  infant's,  and  her  eyes  — 
liquid,  dark,  beaming  hazel  eyes  —  were  softened  by  rich, 
black  lashes;  her  hair,  in  youthful  fashion,  swept  her  crim- 
son checks  and  snowy  shoulders  in  smooth  and  heavy  curls, 
dark -brown,  with  a  golden  tinge.  As  she  wove  the  roses 
she  had  gathered  in  the  skirt  of  her  white  dress  into  a 
wrciith,  and  fastened  back  the  muslin,  drapery  from  the  win- 
dow with  it,  she  sang  to  herself  in  a  low  voice,  whose 
lighted  cadence  was  silvery  sweet ;    while  a  smile,  betoken- 


72  THE  senator's  son. 

ing  her  pleasant  thoughts,  hovered  around  her  roseate 
mouth. 

This  lovely  young  creature  was  the  carefully-reared  Al- 
ice Madison;  she  was  sitting  in  the  sun-set  room,  idling 
away  a  summer  hour,  while  her  thoughts  flew  forwards  a 
few  weeks  to  the  time  when  her  darling  brother  would  be  at 
home  to  stay. 

It  was  but  a  month  until  he  would  graduate,  and  that 
doubtless  with  honor  and  applause.  The  old  family  ser- 
vants were  already  talking  over  the  affair  and  making  prep- 
arations for  his  reception.  Bridget  had  made  some  fruit- 
cake, good  enough  for  a  wedding  she  declared,  and  iced  it 
with  his  name  in  the  centre,  to  adorn  the  table  when  he 
should  come.  His  room  daily  received  some  addition  to  its 
comforts,  and  John  was  paying  particular  attention  to  the 
horses,  and  persuading  Mrs.  Madison  to  have  new  cushions 
to  the  carriage. 

The  young  girl  was  thinking  of  all  these  things,  and 
how  delightful  it  would  be  to  have  him  at  home  through  the 
long  evenings  of  the  next  winter,  and  how  good  and  how 
gifted,  and  how  altogether  incomparable  her  dear  brother 
was  —  her  singing  ended  in  a  smile,  her  smile  in  a  reverie, 
out  of  which  she  came  with  a  low  murmur  — 

^^Dear  — dear  Parke!" 

And  looking  up  she  saw  him  standing  before  her.  At 
first  she  did  not  stop  to  think  why  he  should  be  home  so 
Boon,  but  flinging  down  her  roses  to  the  floor,  with  a  cry 
of  joy,  she  sprang  forward  and  cla^po*'  his  neck. 


THE    senator's    SON.  73 

^'  Oil !  Parke,  bow  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  what  brought 
you  back  so  soon  ?  '^  He  pressed  her  a  moment  tightly  to 
his  heart,  and  then  pushing  her  away  stood  gloomily  before 
her.  She  saw  that  he  was  pale  and  agitated ;  alarmed  at 
she  knew  not  what,  she  pulled  him  down  beside  her  on  the 
lounge  and  kissed  him  many  times. 

"  Do  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  ?"  she  said. 

^'  Nothing,  Alice,  only  I  am  expelled  from  school.'' 

She  looked  up  in  astonishment. 

'^  Why,  Parke,  what  will  mother  say  to  that  ?" 

"Oh,  that's  the  worst  of  it,"  he  cried;  "I  should  not 
care  for  anything  else,  but  it  will  grieve  mother  so,"  and 
bowing  his  face  into  her  lap  he  sobbed  like  a  child. 

"  Well,  dear,  dear  Parke,  don't  think  of  it,  I  know  that 
you  are  not  to  blame  —  you  cannot  be  —  some  one  has  been 
doing  you  a  great  injury." 

"  No  one  has  injured  me  but  myself.  Its  all  my  own 
folly,  Allie,  and  I  shall  never,  never  get  over  it.  I  got 
drunk/'  he  continued,  bitterly  raising  up  his  flushed  face, 
<^  and  acted  worse  than  a  fool ! " 

"  Why,  Parke  Madison  ! " 

"  Yes,  its  the  truth,  and  everybody  will  know  it  now, 
and  I  can  never  hold  up  my  head  again  among  respectable 
people.  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it ;  but  the  students,  some 
of  the  wildest,  were  having  a  supper  in  the  room  of  one  of 
them,  and  they  got  me  in  and  almost  forced  me  to  drink, 
and  when  I  have  once  a  taste  of  wine,  I  always  make  a  fool 
of  myself." 


74  THE  senator's  son. 

*•  Bufyou  have  always  been  so  well-behaYed,  and  it  was 
so  near  commencement,  I  should  have  thought  that  your 
teachers  would  have  pardoned  you.  Its  a  shame  for  them 
to  have  expelled  you ;  and  in  a  ni,onth  you  would  have  made 
them  proud  of  you.'' 

Ah,  Allie,  I  cannot  blame  the  professors.  For  — for, 
the  fact  is,  hiding  his  face  in  his  hand,  '•  this  was  the  second 
time  within  a  week,  and  I  behaved  so  outrageously.  Yes, 
they  did  excuse  me  the  first  offence,  but  my  last  was  so  con- 
spicuous. Oh,  dear  !  I  wish  I  hated  and  abhorred  wine  in- 
stead of  loving  it.  I  will  tell  you  what  I  know,  AUie,  and 
then  perhaps  you  will  pity  me  if  you  cannot  forgive.  My 
class  were  all  jealous  of  me  because  I  had  surpassed  them 
all,  and  they  knew  that  I  would  have  the  prizes.  Even 
Alf.,  who  was  second  best,  grew  to  be  envious,  and  they 
laid  a  plot  to  get  me  drunk,  and  then  to  induce  me  to  act 
disgracefully.  I  had  not  resolution  enough  to  resist  the 
first  glass,  and  after  that  they  did  whatever  they  had  a  mind 
to  with  me.  I  shall  never  forgive  them,''  he  exclaimed,  get- 
ting up  and  walking  backwards  and  forwards  across  the  floor. 
"  I  shall  never  forgive  Alf.  —  he  acted  like  a  coward." 

"  It  was  cruel  —  wicked  —  shameful,"  cried  the  young 
girl,  in  an  indignant  tone,  "  and  Alfred,  too,  I  can  hardly 
believe  it  of  him  —  I  should  hate  him  for  being  such  a 
traitor,  if  it  was  not  wrong  to  hate  anybody.  Oh !  Parke,  if 
you  had  only  remembered  your  mother's  counsel,  and  read 
j^ur  bible,  and  prayed  daily  for  strength,  I  do  not  believe 
fou  would  have  fallen." 


THE    SENATORS    SON.  lO 

"  I  have,  Allie,  the  most  of  the  time/'  he  replied  earn- 
estly. '^  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  sometiiuris  after  the 
most  solemn  resolutions,  and  asking  God  to  give  me  grace 
to  keep  them,  I  have  been  drawn  away  into  temptation  so 
easily ;  I  believe  I  have  no  energy,  no  self-reliance,  or  inde- 
pendence. Even  companions  whom  I  despise  have  an  in- 
fluence over  me  —  I  do  that  which  I  dislike,  and  then  have 
only  to  be  sorry  and  ashamed.  If  I  could  always  be  in  such 
society  as  your'sand  mother's where  is  mother,  Allie  V 

^'  She  is  lying  down  in  her  room.  She  is  not  as  strong 
even  as  she  used  to  be ;  and.  she  cacnot  keep  about  this  op- 
pressive weather  without  a  long  siesta  Poor  mother  !  how 
will  she  feel  I'' 

^'  Don't  say  a  word,  or  I  shall  go  crazy,  I  do  not  see 
how  I  can  ever  meet  her;  I  had  a  notion  to  just  go  to  Ni- 
agara Falls  and  throw  myself  over  instead  of  coming  home." 

"  Now  please  do  not  talk  in  that  manner,"  said  Allie, 
afifectionately  linking  her  arm  in  his,  and  walking  to  and 
fro  with  him.  "Go  to  your  room  and  lie  down  and  get 
rested  —  you  look  pale  and  tired,  /will  break  the  news 
to  our  mother,  and  secure  her  pardon  before  you  see  her 
at  all." 

"  You  are  a  good  sister,"  he  said,  kissing  her,  and  with 
something  like  a  sigh  of  relief,  he  turned  away  and  went  up 
stairs.  Alice  called  John  and  sent  him  to  the  depot  for 
Parke's  baggage.  She  blushed  at  his  surprised  inquiry  of 
"  why  he  was  home  just  at  that  time  of  all  others,  and  if  he 
was  sick  ?  " 


76  THE  senator's  son. 

"The  students  laid  a  plot  to  get  him  expelled,"  she 
answered,  the  tears  starting  to  her  eyes ;  and  not  waiting  to 
hear  his  observations  she  went  to  her  mother's  room  think- 
ing how  hard  it  would  be  to  have  everybody  hear  of  her 
brother's  disgrace. 

Mrs.  Madison  was  awake,  and  got  up  when  her  daughter 
entered. 

"You  ha7  some  just  in  time  to  arrange  my  hair," 
she  remarker^  i/ow  it  was  Allice's  especial  pleasure  to  dress 
her  motheJ^^  *oft  hair,  as  yet  but  slightly  streaked  with 
grey,  and  &ne  was  particularly  glad  at  that  time  to  have 
something  to  do  to  conceal  her  face,  while  making  her  un- 
pleasant revelations.  Disappointment  and  mortification 
were  only  passing  emotions  in  the  mind  of  the  mother  as 
she  listened.  She  was  conscious  of  the  defects  in  her  son's 
otherwise  beautiful  character,  which  made  him  peculiarly 
liable  to  temptation,  and  when  she  heard  this  sad  story  of 
his  weakness  and  error,  the  memory  of  his  father's  faults 
and  fate  struck  to  her  heart  with  a  sudden  thrill  of  dread. 
A  sense  of  danger  overwhelmed  her  in  an  icy  sea  of  terror. 
The  young  girl  set  her  brother's  case  before  her  with  an 
eloquence  which  would  fain  have  exterminated  all  his  fault. 
The  mother  was  not  disposed  to  be  harsh ;  her  judgment 
and  inclination  both  said  that  the  wiser  way  would  not  be 
to  irritate  his  already  deeply-wounded  sensibility,  but  to 
heal  the  wound  with  tenderness,  and  to  restrain  him  from 
future  error  by  the  strong  bands  of  an  unfailing  love. 

Wiping  away  a  few  tears,  she  went  up  stairs  and  knocked 


THE    senator's    SON.  77 

at  his  door.  A  choked  voice  bade  her  come  in ;  she  entered 
and  found  Parke  sitting  gloomily  upon  the  side  of  the  bed, 
his  eyes  cast  down  and  his  lip  quivering. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  will  ever  punish  yourself  with 
your  own  folly  again/'  she  said,  sitting  beside  him,  after 
kissing  him  with  all  or  more  of  her  usual  affection,  ^'  But 
cheer  up,  dear  boy,  and  do  not  look  so  completely  heart- 
broken. Its  a  bad  commencement  in  life,  but  you  have 
plenty  of  time  to  live  down  a  mistake  like  this,  if  you  only 
do  right  hereafter." 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  am  so  ashamed  and  miserable." 

''  You  ought  to  be  a  little  ashamed,"  she  said  with  a 
smile. 

"  If  you  would  only  scold  me,  mother,  and  treat  me  as 
I  deserve,  I  think  I  could  bear  it  better,  but  you  are  so 
kind,  and  Allie,  too;  I  can't  stand  it  V 

^'  A  mother's  love  will  outlast  more  than  one  fault,"  was 
the  gentle  reply.  Think  no  more  about  it  now  3  nor  ever, 
only  when  you  are  tempted  to  the  same  again  —  then  you 
may  think  of  it  as  much  as  you  like.  By  the  time  you 
have  rested  awhile,  bathed  and  dressed,  tea  will  be  ready, 
we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  with  us  to  tea  again." 

Pressing  his  hand,  she  left  him  to  himself — no  very 
pleasant  company  in  his  present  frame  of  mind. 

Bridget,  when  she  heard  of  her  boy,  as  she  called  him, 

being  at  home,  and  had  inquired  out  the  reason,  was  very 

angry  for  an  hour  or  two.     She  had  the  good  name  of  the 

family  she  served  more  at  heart  than  any  other  thing ;  and 

7* 


78  THE  senator's  son. 

to  think  that  Parke,  its  pride  and  promise,  should  of  all 
others  bring  this  blot  upon  it,  was  too  much  for  her  equa- 
nimity. She  vented  her  ill-humor  upon  luckless  John,  the 
cook-stove,  the  coal,  and  a  strawberry  girl ;  and  gave  Alice, 
who  happened  into  the  kitchen,  a  fine  scolding  on  her 
brother's  account. 

Looking  up  from  her  ironing,  and  finding  the  young 
girl  in  tears,  her  anger  suddenly  subsided  into  a  dismal  fit 
of  weeping,  during  which  all  her  old  afiection  for  her  darl- 
ing boy  returned,  and  she  concluded  that  she  would  treat 
him  as  well  as  if  he  had  come  home  loaded  with  prizes. 

The  cake  bearing  his  name  should  grace  the  tea-table ; 
and  they  should  have  strawberries  and-  cream  if  they  2vere 
enormously  dear.  When  tea  was  ready,  and  she  made  an 
errand  into  the  room  with  an  urn  of  hot  water,  and  beheld 
Parke  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table  with  a  very  dejected 
look,  quite  unmindful  of  the  luxuries  of  which  he  used  to 
be  so  fond,  eyeing  with  a  melancholy  look  the  cake  which 
seemed  to  mock  him  with  a  name  which  he  had  disgraced, 
her  kind,  old  heart  was  overcome.  She  sat  down  the  urn 
hastily,  and,  marching  round  to  him,  clasped  him  about  the 
neck,  and  said,  with  a  little  tremble  in  her  voice,  that  ''  she 
was  mighty  glad  to  see  him,  no  matter  what  he  was  sent 
home  about" — and  hastened  back  to  the  kitchen  with  her 
apron  to  her  eyes. 

The  mortification,  excitement,  and  grief  of  the  young 
student  were  too  much  for  his  delicately  organized  frame. 
His  sensitive  soul  could  not  bear  so  severe  a  shock.     He 


THE    senator's    SON.  79 

fretted  himself  into  a  fever,  and  for  a  few  weeks  was  seri- 
ously ill.  Alice  was  constantly  with  him,  and  no  one 
seemed  to  retain  even  a  memory  of  his  fault.  The  most 
censorious  were  disposed  to  pardon  a  youthful  excess  for 
which  so  much  soitow  and  contrition  were  shown.  It  got 
about,  too,  in  what  manner  he  had  been  beguiled  into  it, 
and  for  what  purpose.  His  mother's  friends  and  his  own 
thronged  the  hail  with  inquiries,  condolences,  early  fruit, 
and  boquets.  His  good  name  v/as  restored  to  its  pristine 
brightness,  and  his  apprehensions  of  having  always  to  strug- 
gle against  society's  bad  opinion  were  done  away  with.  As 
soon  as  he  was  well  enough  to  go  with  them,  Mrs.  Madison 
and  Alice  went  into  the  country  to  remain  through  the  hot- 
test weather;  and  here  he  quite  recovered  his  spirits,  romp- 
ing with  his  sister,  wandering  through  cool,  green  woods 
with  her,  fishing,  gathering  wild-flowers,  talking  classic 
poetry  at  the  trees  and  rocks  and  streams. 

In  September,  the  family  returned  to  the  city.  Parke, 
resolved  to  atone  for  past  misconduct,  went  immediately 
into  the  law-office  of  his  guardian;  a  gentleman  of  high 
talent  and  character,  who  was  admirably  fitted  to  influence 
him  for  better  things.  Here  he  studied  perseveringly  for 
several  months ;  but  in  the  first  part  of  the  winter,  Alfred 
Clyde  returned  to  New  York.  He  had  fallen  out  with  his 
uncle,  through  some  lack  of  his  usual  caution.  The  old 
man  had  been  displeased  with  him  several  times ;  and  on 
this  occasion  his  displeasure  was  so  severe  that  the  crafty 
youth  could  not  turn  it  aside.     Thrown  for  the  present 


80  THE    senator's    SON. 

from  this  track  upon  which  he  was  riding  with  rail-road 
ease  to  fortune,  he  bethought  him  of  the  plan  he  had  al- 
ready studied  for  reaching  the  same  point  by  another  way. 
From  his  first  acquaintance  with  young  Madison,  he  had 
resolved  to  make  him  serviceable  in  case  of  necessity.  Like 
many  bad  men,  he  was  jealous  of  those  purer  than  himself, 
and  he  had  no  scruples  about  dragging  his  friend  down  to 
his  own  level. 

When  Parke  first  encountered  him  in  the  city,  he  de- 
clined any  farther  acquaintance  with  him,  believing,  what 
was  really  so,  that  he  had  joined  with  others  in  effecting  his 
disgrace  at  college.  Alfred  Boon  made  it  appear  that  such 
a  suspicion  was  doing  wrong  to  his  best  friend,  who  had 
only  joined  with  the  rest  in  order  to  have  a  chance  to  warn 
and  protect  him.  Why  he  did  not  do  it  was  never  made 
very  plain;  but  he  succeeded  in  restoring  Parke's  confi- 
dence, and  they  were  better  friends  than  ever. 

He  was  invited  to  the  house  a  great  deal  by  Parke,  and 
kindly  received  by  the  family,  who  accepted  the  son's  ex- 
cuses in  his  behalf  Despite  of  his  pleasing  address,  Mrs. 
Madison  was  suspicious  of  his  good  qualities.  When  Parke 
began  to  study  less  and  to  stay  away  from  home  more  auvl 
more,  —  to  be  out  late  evenings,  and  be  unwilling  to  give  an 
account  of  how  they  were  spent  —  to  come  down  late  t-^ 
breakfast,  with  pale  cheeks  and  heavy  eyes  —  to  ask  lii.-: 
guardian  frequently  for  money,  —  the  old  deadly  fear  re- 
turned to  her  heart.  She  warned  him  tenderly  and  oitca, 
and  finally  exerted  all  her  authorily  as  a  parent  ta  break  up 


THE    senator's    SON.  81 

the  intimacy  between  the  two  young  men ;  but  Parke  only 
became  more  infatuated,  and  resented  his  mother's  interfer- 
ence in  a  manner  very  different  from  his  usual  affectionate 
and  reverential  behavior. 

Alfred  knew  that  he  was  no  longer  a  welcome  guest ; 
but  he  continued  to  come  often  and  stay  long.  Mrs.  Madi- 
son saw  the  reason.  He  was  deeply  enamored  of  her  lovely 
daughter.  He  would  sit  silent  a  whole  evening  to  have  her 
sing,  leaning  against  the  piano  and  gazing  down  into  her 
face.     Her  singing  was  like  the  Lady  Geraldine's : 

"  Oh,  to  see  or  hear  her  singing!  scarce  I  know  which  is 
divinest — 
For  her  looks  sing  too :  she  modulates  her  gestures 
on  the  tune ; 
And  her  mouth  stirs  with  the  song,  like  song;    and 
when  the  notes  are  finest, 
'Tis  the  eyes  that  shoot  out  vocal  light,  and  seem 
•   to  swell  them  on." 

That  innocent  countenance,  unconscious  of  his  passion- 
ate admiration,  radiant  with  its  own  beauty,  and  giving  a 
divine  expression  to  her  music,  would  fix  the  glow  of  his 
black  eyes,  until  startled  by  the  thought  of  the  mother's 
grave  observation,  he  would  withdraw  them  hastily,  and  per- 
haps join  Alice  in  her  song. 

The  young  girl  was  unsuspicious  of  any  other  than  a 
brotherly  attachment,  and  that  by  degrees  grew  unwelcome 
to  her,   as  she  attributed  her   brother's  present  mode  of 


82  THE  senator's  son. 

living  more  or  less  to  his  influence.  She  did  not  dream  of 
half,  and  could  hardly  have  realized  it  had  it  been  told  to 
her,  but  she  suspected  enough  to  make  her  feel  some  bitter- 
ness towards  him. 

''  Where  is  the  ring  you  was  to  wear  until  I  received  my 
diploma  ? ''  he  inquired  one  day,  taking  her  fair  hand  in 
his  own. 

"  I  took  it  off  when  Parke  came  home  from  college," 
she  replied. 

"  But  why  have  you  not  restored  it  to  its  former  envia- 
ble place  ?  Is  the  giver  put  away  with  the  ring  into  your 
casket  of  cast-off  valuables,  never  to  be  restored  to  his  old 
station  in  your  regards  V 

'^  I  fear  that  he  is  not  worthy  of  restoration  ! "  she  said, 
with  a  melancholy  smile ;  and  looking  a  little  alarmed  the 
next  moment  at  her  own  frankness. 

"You  must  not  think  so  —  you  shall  not!''  he  ex- 
claimed, with  a  lowering  of  his  dark  eye.  "  I  cannot  hear 
it  from  you  ! " 

He  pressed  her  hand  so  hard  that  she  shrank  with  the 
pain. 

"  I  hope  that  I  shall  have  no  reason,"  she  said  gravely. 

These  winter  evenings  to  which  Alice  had  looked  forward 
with  so  much  delight  became  the  darkest  hours  of  her  hith- 
erto happy  life.  They  were  long,  long  hours,  spent  many 
of  them  in  watching  and  weeping.  Her  mother,  whose 
health  daily  declined,  was  unable  to  remain  up  after  nine  or 
ten  o'clock,  but  nothing  could  induce  the  devoted  sister  to 


THE    senator's    SON.  83 

retire  to  rest  until  Parke  came  iu.  Often  the  alabaster  clock 
on  the  library  mantle  would  ring  out  twelve  —  one  —  two ; 
while  she  sat  by  the  smouldering  grate  with  a  pale  face,  try- 
ing to  interest  herself  in  a  book,  nervously  listening  to  every 
sound  in  the  nearly-silent  street. 

She  always  went  out  into  the  hall  when  he  came  in. 
Sometimes  he  would  brush  rudely  by  her,  with  an  angry  ex- 
clamation at  her  silliness  in  sitting  up  —  sometimes  he 
would  kiss  her  hastily,  looking  guilty  and  unhappy  —  and 
sometimes  she  could  persuade  him  to  come  into  the  library 
and  sit  down  a  little  while,  when  she  told  him  that  he  was 
breaking  his  mother's  heart,  and  her  own  too,  and  ruining 
himself.  He  would  confess  with  hot  and  bitter  tears  that 
he  was  doing  wrong  —  that  he  was  very  unhappy  —  and 
that  wine  was  the  instigator  of  all  his  evil  conduct.  He 
would  promise  amendment,  and  for  a  few  days  would  be 
the  beloved,  adored  Parke  of  other  days.  Alice  would  go 
singing  about  the  house  with  a  step  light  as  a  fairy ;  and 
the  youthful  bloom  upon  her  cheeks  which  belonged  there. 
The  promise  would  be  forgotten,  the  watching  renewed,  the 
sad  faces  come  back  again.  Even  the  servants  had  not  the 
independent,  contented  look  they  used  to  wear  when  all  was 
well  with  the  family.  Bridget  petted  and  fretted  about  her 
mistress'  sorrowful,  fading  countenance.  John  drove  his  car- 
riage down  the  avenue  with  a  shade  less  dashing  air  than 
the  one  which  used  to  become  him  so  well.  Pete,  the  cun- 
ning-looking little  negro  waiter,  who  dusted  the  parlors,  laid 
the  plates,  and  attended  the  boll,  was  the  only  personage 


84 


THE   SENATOR  S    SON. 


who  seemed  to  preserve  indifference  to  surrounding  perplex- 
ities. His  eyes  were  as  bright,  and  his  smile  as  sly  as 
ever ;  with  good  reason,  for  he  never  troubled  himself  about 
the  door  after  eight  o'clock  of  the  evening ;  his  young  mis- 
tress attended  to  that ;  and  the  young  master  thftw  him 
more  dimes  than  usual,  probably  out  of  gratitude  to  the 
little  imp  for  always  grinning  at  him  with  imperturbable 
good  nature,  whether  he  was  in  a  state  to  deserve  it  or  not, 
Mr.  Crawford,  Parke's  guardian,  came  often  to  see  Mrs. 
Madison,  and  consult  what  was  best  to  be  done  with  the 
young  gentleman ;  telling  her  that  he  spent  enough  money 
to  support  five  people  in  his  station,  and  that  he  never  liked 
it  when  his  guardian  refused  to  let  him  have  such  extrava- 
gant allowances;  that  his  studying  law  was  a  mere  pre- 
tence, for  he  made  no  regular  application  to  the  books ;  and 
that  he  was  known  to  associate  with  some  of  the  most  reck- 
less young  men  of  the  metropolis.  The  agony  of  the  moth- 
er's heart  was  partly  betrayed  by  her  slow  step  and  fading 
form ;  but  who  can  measure  the  depth  of  a  mother's  love, 
or  the  anguish  of  her  fear,  when  she  sees  a  child  like  Parke 
breaking  from  the  tears,  the  prayers,  the  ties  of  home,  to 
madly  follow  his  leaders  to  ruin,  to  death,  and  to  the  judg- 
ment. The  secret  misery  corroding  the  peace  of  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  families,  brought  by  one  husband,  f\\ther, 
brother,  or  son  who  has  gone  astray,  may  speak  to  its  vic- 
tims of  the  despair  which  crowns  with  a  ghastly  death's- 
head  the  cup  of  glowing  wine ;  but  who  else  can  think  of  it 
as  it  is,  or  hate  it  with  deserved  hatred  ? 


THE    senator's    SON.  85 

In  tlie  spring,  following  her  own  judgment,  as  well  as 
the  advice  of  Mr.  Crawford,  Mrs.  Madison  rented  her  beau- 
tiful city  residence  and  remoyed  entirely  to  the  farm  where 
they  had  §;pent  a  portion  of  the  last  summer. 

It  was  a  loyely  spot,  removed  far  enough  from  New 
York  to  be  out  of  the  hearing  of  its  witcheries.  The  house 
was  large  and  old-fashioned,  with  one  great  parlor,  and  a 
nice  room  for  a  library  opening  off  of  it.  The  chambers 
were  airy  and  pleasant  —  each  member  of  the  family  had  a 
room  for  him  and  herself;  the  mother  had  an  apartment 
opposite  the  parlor,  whose  beauty  of  situation  more  than 
compensated  for  the  loss  of  the  sunset-room.  A  piazza  run 
round  three  sides  of  the  main  building,  whose  columns  were 
profusely  draped  with  multi-flora  and  honey-suckle. 

Alice's  sleeping  room  looked  off  over  the  orchard,  the 
clover  field,  the  great  barn,  into  a  lovely  grove  of  maples; 
Mrs.  Madison's  over  a  wide  expanse  of  beautiful  mead- 
ow-land, girdled  with  a  silver  stream,  and  crowned  by  dis- 
tant hills;  close  under  the  window  was  a  sloping  green 
sward,  shadowed  here  and  there  by  elm  and  maple  trees, 
breaking  her  view  of  the  scenery  into  picturesque  patches. 
Kose-bushes  grew  by  the  casement,  and  there  was  a  Httle 
bed  of  carnations  and  gilly-flowers  under  it. 

The  family  who  managed  the  farm  had  removed  into  a 
smaller  house  which  had  been  repaired  for  them ;  so  that 
Mrs.  Madison  kept  house  for  herself,  and  retained  her  old 
servants.  The  piano,  the  pictures,  the  books,  the  furniture, 
and  the  whole  household  were  there. 
8 


86  THE    SENATOU'S    SON. 

For  the  first  few  weeks  Parke  was  sullen  aucl  restless. 
He  wandered  about  like  some  one  tormented  with  thirst,  and 
seeking  the  means  to  quench  it.  The  quiet,  the  beauty  of 
the  place  soon  wrought  a  change  in  him..  His  character  as- 
similated itself  to  the  nature  of  things  about  him.  The  ex- 
pansion of  the  green  leaves,  the  budding  of  the  flowers,  the 
springing  of  the  wheat,  the  swelling  of  the  brook,  became 
objects  of  interest  to  him;  his  mind  and  body  grew  healthy. 
He  regarded  his  last  winter's  life  as  a  fever,  hateful  to  think 
about.  Those  things  which  had  so  attracted  him,  now  ap- 
peared disgusting  —  his  former  pleasures  degrading,  his  as- 
sociates vile.  By  degrees  all  wish  to  return  to  the  city  left 
him. 

Everything  here  was  new.  There  were  a  thousand 
thino-s  to  learn  and  to  do.  Alice  bloomed  more  beautiful 
than  ever.  The  early  roses  could  not  compare  with  her 
delicate  grace.  She  had  never  been  so  happy  before ;  the 
weight  which  had  depressed  her  spirits  for  so  many  months 
was  removed,  and  the  rebounds  left  her  on  the  summit  of 
happiness. 

Parke  was  once  more  the  handsome,  gay,  hopeful,  affec- 
tionate brother.  The  great  old  mansion  was  a  perfect  play- 
house for  them ;  from  the  cellar  to  the  garret  all  was  envi- 
ous and  delightful.  The  stone  dairy-house  built  over  the 
brook,  the  old  log-house  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  built  by 
the  first  settlers,  and  now  gone  into  romantic  decay,  with  a 
huge  apple-tree  growing  in  at  the  open  window,  and  heaps  of 
last  year's  nuts  in  the  rickety  loft  —  the  grape-vine  swing 


THE   senator's   SON.  87 

in  the  woods  —  and  the  little  quiet  place  in  the  stream 
where  the  fishes  most  did  congregate  —  all  these  received 
their  frequent  visits.  Nothing  was  so  sweet  as  the  fra- 
grance of  apple-blossoms  when  the  night-breeze  wafted  them 
into  the  windows,  while  Alice  made  the  old  mansion  ring 
with  the  melody  of  her  voice,  in  concert  with  the  piano. 
But  when  the  roses  came,  tliey  were  the  sweetest ;  and  when 
haying-time  came,  there  was  nothing,  positively  nothing,  so 
refreshing  as  the  fragrance  of  the  new-mown  hay,  nor  so  de- 
lightful as  tossing  it  about  and  following  the  loaded  wagons 
to  the  barns. 

Parke  was  very  efiicient  aid  in  time  of  hurry,  and  Alice 
learned  all  the  mysteries  of  butter-making  from  the  farmer's 
wife.  Old  Brindle  sometimes  came  home,  to  the  great  as- 
tonishment of  that  good  woman,  with  her  head,  neck,  and 
horns  strangely  bedecked  with  wreaths  of  leaves  and  flowers 
which  Alice  had  coaxed  her  into  standing  quiet  to  be 
adorned  with.  The  lambs  when  they  could  be  caught  were 
similarly  decked,  and  even  the  fat,  nice,  little  pigs  did  not 
always  escape  some  marks  of  her  favor.  Parke  learned  her 
to  ride  on  horseback.  He  had  been  taught  in  a  riding- 
school,  but  she  took  her  first  lessons  from  him. 

That  was  a  happy  summer.  It  had  one  shadow,  how- 
ever, in  the  ill-health  of  Mrs.  Madison.  Not  even  the 
country  air  could  restore  her  to  her  old  animation ;  and  as 
the  hot  days  of  August  came  on,  she  drooped  more  and 
more.  She  was  confined  a  great  deal  to  her  room  and  her 
sofa.     The  family  physician  came  frequently  from  the  city 


88  THE  senator's  son. 

to  see  her.  He  seemed  to  think  her  present  abode  as  fa- 
vorable to  her  health  as  any  could  be ;  and  she  was  glad  to 
hear  it,  for  the  children  were  doing  so  well,  and  she  herself 
felt  such  quiet  and  peace,  that  she  dreaded  the  thought  of 
change. 

Of  visitors  from  town  they  had  a  great  many  during  the 
hot  weather,  whom  they  duly  feasted  with  country  luxuries, 
and  gave  a  glimpse  of  country  pleasures. 

After  haying  and  harvesting  came  the  fruit-season. 
This  was  indeed  a  glorious  portion  of  the  year.  Even  Mrs. 
Madison  rallied  a  little  through  September  and  October. 
How  beautiful  were  the  golden  autumn  days ;  the  purple 
valleys,  the  misty  hills,  the  fragrant  air,  the  gorgeous  ma- 
ple grove.  How  delightful  to  wander  with  rustling  feet 
through  the  wood,  gathering  up  the  various-hued  leaves, 
listening  for  the  dropping  nuts,  and  plucking  the  plentiful 
wild  grapes. 

Parke  Madison  thought  that  he  could  never  do  another 
sinful  deed  as  long  as  he  lived. 

The  Indian-summer  came  and  went  like  a  dreain- of  Par- 
adise. Then  the  young  people  had  an  opportunity  of  test- 
ing the  pleasures  of  a  winter  in  the  country.  The  tongue 
of  the  babbling  brook  was  frozen  into  stillness;  the  trees 
once  beautiful  with  waving  foliage  were  standing  bare  and 
dreary,  or  sparkling  with  a  thousand  rainbow  pendants  of 
ice,  or  muffled  in  heavy  habiliments  of  snow.  The  distant 
hills  stood  grand  and  stately,  like  white-headed  old  men. 
The   fields,    beautifully   clothed  in   snowy  garments,  were 


THE    senator's    SON.  89 

lying  at  rest  after  their  summer  labor,  gathering  strength 
for  another  season  of  toil.  The  dairy-house  seemed  to  have 
grown  short  and  bulky,  with  its  heavy  cap  hanging  over 
its  brows.  The  portico,  sometimes,  after  a  litttle  thaw 
would  be  hung  about  with  glittering  fringes,  and  the  grace- 
ful stems  of  the  multi -flora  would  flash  and  gleam  like 
sprays  of  diamonds,  while  its  red  berries  made  a  handsome 
contrast. 

Within-doors  there  was  comfort  and  plenty.  The  cellar 
was  full  of  fine  apples  and  the  garret  was  stored  with  nuts 
As  often  as  once  a  fortnight  Mr.  Crawford  sent  out  new 
books,  and  they  had  a  paper  almost  every  day  in  the  week 
But  some  of  the  apartments,  which  were  so  spacious  and 
airy  in  warm  weather,  could  not  be  made  comfortable  now ; 
the  great  parlor  was  abandoned,  and  the  little  library  be- 
came the  favorite  room.  Here  reading,  music,  and  games 
of  chess,  knitting,  painting  in  water-colors,  and  letter- 
writing,  went  smoothly  on.  Here  was  stationed  Mrs.  Madi- 
son's favorite  sofa,  and  here  the  tea  was  made  every  even- 
ing. Here  Parke  began  to  be  ambitious  to  become  a  sculp- 
tor, littering  the  hearth  every  day  with  chips  until  he  had 
carved  a  strange-looking  head  out  of  a  bit  of  wood,  which, 
he  flattered  Alice,  was  meant  for  a  copy  of  her  own. 

Sometime  in  January,  Mrs.  Madison  took  a  severe  cold, 
which  confined  her  to  her  bed  for  a  long  time,  and  left  her 
with  an  alarming  cough.  The  rest  of  the  winter  her  health 
was  miserable.  She  grew  more  and  more  feeble,  lying  all 
day  upon  her  lounge,  and  being  almost  carried  to  her  bed 
8* 


90  THE  senator's  ^;on. 

at  night.  Alice  slept  with  her,  to  be  near  her  in  ease  of  a 
vsudden  increase  of  her  illness,  which  sometimes  occurred. 
Parke  was  devoted  to  her  comfort.  He  read  to  her  by  the 
hour,  in  his  rich,  mellow  voice ;  he  carried  her  in  his  arms 
when  she  was  well  enough  to  go  out  in  the  sleigh  for  a  short 
ride ;  he  hung  around  her  constantly,  on  the  watch  for  some 
opportunity  of  serving  her.  In  his  deep  and  solicitous  ten- 
derness might  be  traced  the  workings  of  remorse.  He 
knew  that  the  many  hours  of  anxiety  and  anguish  he  had 
caused  her  were  partly  the  reasons  of  her  present  sufferings ; 
and  he  strove  to  atone,  by  faultless  conduct  and  filial  atten- 
tions, for  the  past. 

Never  had  an  invalid  two  children  who  were  more  affec- 
tionate nurses.  In  (piet  and  happy  occupations  the  winter 
wore  away,  the  cheerful  spirits  of  the  young  people  checked 
only  by  an  occasional  fear  of  their  mother's  being  taken 
away  from  them.  The  mother's  own  presentiments  were 
more  constant  and  powerful.  She  knew  that  she  never 
should  be  well  again.  She  looked  death  in  the  face  every 
day,  calmly,  smilingly.  Only  when  she  thought  of  her 
boy  !  only  when  she  thought  of  Parke !  —  with  his  gene- 
rosity, impressibility,  want  of  purpose,  love  of  gayely  — 
who  had  been  so  nearly  swept  away  in  the  vortex  of  vice, 
and  who  could  never  play  a  moment  upon  its  alluring  shores 
without  danger  of  losing  his  foothold  and  being  drawn  into 
the  dizzy  current,  —  then,  in  what  an  agony  of  prayer  she 
laid  her  fears  before  her  Maker,  and  implored  of  Him  to  be 
the  Parent  and  the  Savior  of  her  child.     Alice  she  was  con- 


THE  senator's  son.  91 

tent  to  leave  with  her  own  holy  and  religious  heart,  her 
sweet  temper,  her  gay  disposition,  and  her  habits  of  prayer  j 
satisfied  that  the  dear  and  beautiful  child  had  the  promise 
of  happiness  in  her  gifts  of  wealth,  loveliness,  grace,  and 
talent,  well  guarded  by  the  golden  breast-plate  of  her  piety. 
Still  it  was  with  yearning  eyes  that  she  followed  the  move- 
ments of  that  slender  figure  and  gazed  upon  that  blooming, 
child-like  face.  It  is  hard  for  a  mother  to  leave  her  chil- 
dren, even  when  her  destination  is  to  the  unspeakable 
beauty  of  the  promised-land. 

Ever  since  she  was  a  young  girl  Mrs.  Madison  had  been 
a  disciple  of  Jesus  Christ.  In  the  palmiest  days  of  her 
brilliant  career,  when  flattered,  courted,  and  boundlessly 
beloved,  —  the  accomplished  daughter  of  a  superior  family 
—  the  admirable  wife  of  a  distinguished  man,  —  she  had 
never  been  bewildered  into  forgetfulness  of  her  professions 
of  an  humble  faith.  Would  there  were  more  professed 
followers  of  the  ^  meek  and  lowly  Jesus,'  who  '■  went  about 
doing  good,'  to  imitate  the  example  of  this  lovely  woman, 
who  was  as  familiar  with  the  homes  of  the  destitute  and 
the  cry  of  orphans  as  with  the  glow  of  her  own  comfortable 
hearth  and  the  singing  of  her  own  fair  children.  Her  faith 
was  serene,  her  hope  cheerful,  and  her  charity  boundless. 
She  always  gave  more  than  many  who  think  that  they  have 
done  their  whole  duty.  To  the  golden  droppings  from  her 
purse  was  added  the  sweet  smile,  the  ready  tear,  the  words 
of  encouragement,  consolation,   or  merited  reproof.     Now 


92  THE  senator's  son. 

that  the  hand  of  sickness  was  laid  heavily  upon  her,  she 
had  a  useful  and  beautiful  life  to  look  back  upon,  and  a 
glorious  future  to  look  forward  to.  All  her  old  sweetness 
lingered  about  her,  dying  away  like  the  sun  at  the  close  of 
a  bright  day  in  a  halo  of  radiance.  Her  greatest  earthly 
happiness  was  in  listening  to  the  almost  seraphic  melody  of 
Alice's  singing;  it  reminded  her  of  the  golden  harps  of 
heaven ;  but  sometimes  it  moved  the  passion  of  her  moth- 
er's heart,  until  she  felt  that  she  could  hardly  part  from  any- 
thing so  dear.  A  few  concealed  tears,  a  silent  prayer,  or  a 
holy  and  comforting  psalm,  would  restore  her  mind  to  its 
usual  serenity. 

With  the  soft  winds  and  flitting  showers  of  April  came 
the  consciousness  to  the  souls  of  the  brother  and  sister  that 
they  were  to  lose  their  mother.  Wasted  and  helpless  she 
lay  upon  her  couch,  which  she  could  leave  only  for  the  dark 
and  narrow  home.  A  few  brief  days  and  she  would  be  no 
more.  So  placidly  she  spoke  of  it,  as  if  she  were  going  on 
a  delightful  journey,  that  in  her  presence  they  could  hardly 
realize  the  great  sorrow  that  was  coming  upon  them.  Ea- 
gerly they  watched  for  every  smile,  growing  now  so  rare  and 
radiant,  and  so  soon  to  beam  on  them  no  more.  Day  and 
night  they  lingered  by  her  side,  holding  the  thin,  white 
hands,  the  pressure  of  whose  slender  fingers  thrilled  them 
with  strange  emotions  of  grief  and  love. 

There  was  a  house-full  of  friends  and  relatives  attending 
upon  the  last  days  of  the  beloved  invalid,  but  the  children 


THE   senator's   SON.  93 

would  yield  their  places  to  none.  If  they  yielded  to  her 
solicitations  and  sought  rest  from  watching,  they  only  wept 
until  they  were  back  to  her  presence. 

One  day,  early  in  May,  she  lay  more  at  ease  than  usual. 
The  window  of  the  room  was  open,  and  the  faint  fragrance 
of  the  first  lilacs  was  wafted  around  the  bed.  Her  attend- 
ants thought  that  she  slept ;  but  while  they  gazed,  a  change 
came  over  her  face  that  all  recognized  as  the  sign  of  the 
presence  of  the  destroyer.  Alice  was  afraid  that  she  would 
never  speak  again,  and  leaning  pale  and  breathless  against 
her  aunt,  she  looked  upon  the  dying  countenance;  her 
brother  buried  his  face  in  the  bed.  Presently  the  eyes  un- 
closed, bright  and  large ',  they  wandered  around  until  they 
rested  upon  the  head  bowed  down  upon  the  counterpane. 

"  Parke,"  she  said,  in  a  clear  whisper. 

"  Dear  mother,"  and  all  in  a  tremble,  he  bent  to  hear 
her  last  words. 

^'  Promise  mje  that  you  will  never  again  touch  the  wine- 
cup.     It  brings  only  sorrow  and  remorse." 

"  I  promise  —  willingly.  I  never  meant  to  any  more, 
and  with  God's  help  I  will  keep  this  promise." 

"  Bring  me  that  promise  unbroken  to  heaven,  Parke. 
Now,  oh.  Heavenly  Father,  I  do  die  content,  and  blessing 
Thee."  She  fixed  her  eyes  with  a  soft  expression  upon  the 
western  sky  which  seemed  opening  its  golden  gates  to  let 
her  waiting  spirit  through.  All  sobs  were  hushed  to  silence, 
while  the  friends  gazed  in  reverential  love  upon  the  saintly 
beauty  of  her  face. 


94  THE   senator's   SON. 

^^  Alice/'  she  said  again,  speaking  aloud,  "  you  haye 
been  a  good  child  —  you  will  come  to  me  I  know  —  and 
Parke  —  love  one  another  —  be  faithful  —  remember  your 

Creator  in  the  days ,"  here  the  voice  died  away,  the 

unearthly  radiance  faded  out  of  her  countenance,  and  as  the 
sun  sank  suddenly  below  the  horizon,  she  sighed  and  fell 
asleep  in  Jesus. 

There  was  a  great  burst  of  lamentation  from  the  group 
gathered  around  —  the  two  oldest  servants  wept  and  groaned 
—  Alice  threw  herself  upon  the  bed,  shivering  like  a  leaf 
chilled  by  a  winter  wind. 

"  Come,  Alice,  this  is  too  much  for  you,  —  come  out  into 
the  open  air  with  me,''  said  Parke,  mastering  himself,  and 
speaking  in  a  changed,  husky  voice. 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  waist  and  led  her  out  to  a 
grassy  knoll  under  the  favorite  elm-tree,  and  there,  when 
they  sat  down  together  alone,  all  composure  forsook  both. 
Clasped  in  each  others  arms  they  gave  uncontrolled  expres- 
sion to  their  sorrow.  It  was  long  after  dark  before  they  re- 
tured  to  the  house. 

^'  Oh  !  Parke,"  said  Alice,  as  they  went  slowly  back, 
^'  we  are  all  that  is  left  to  each  other  now." 

"  Let  us  remember  our  mother's  dying  injunction  to  be 
faithful  —  let  us  indeed  love  one  another,"  replied  the 
brother,  speaking  in  an  earnest  and  agitated  tone. 

"We  will  —  we  will,"  was  the  sobbing  reply,  as  Alice 
carried  her  brother's  hand  to  her  trembling  lips. 

Mrs.  Madison  was  buried  beside  her  husband  in  a  beau- 


THE  senator's  son.  95 

tiful  spot  in  Greenwood  Cemetery.  Countless  friends  fol- 
lowed the  corpse  of  tlie  honored  and  idolized  woman  to  its 
resting-place.  If  compassion  and  sympathy  could  have  alle- 
viated the  grief  of  the  orphans  they  would  have  mourned  no 
more.  As  the}^  stood  beside  the  grave,  clasping  each  other 
close,  struggling  for  streng-th  to  go  away,  leaving  their 
mother  behind  forever,  many  tears  were  dropped  for  them. 
There  was  mourning,  too,  in  many  a  lonely  dwelling  and 
lowly  home  where  the  remembrance  of  the  kindness  of  the 
dead  lingered,  and  grateful  hearts,  thinking  of  their  own 
little  ones  clothed  and  nursed  by  the  good  departed,  now 
prayed  for  the  brother  and  sister  who  were  left  alone. 

There  were  many  families  of  relatives  and  friends  who 
would  have  welcomed  Alice  Madison  to  their  midst  as  a 
cherished  member ;  not  only  for  her  gentleness,  accomplish- 
ments, and  beauty,  but  a  little  too,  perhaps,  because  a 
youthful  heiress  has  seldom  any  lack  of  attention.  But  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crawford,  who  had  been  the  best-beloved 
friends  of  their  father  and  mother,  both  Parke  and  Alice 
uecidcd  to  go.  Having  no  children  of  their  own,  and  hav- 
iug  always  envied  Mrs.  Madison  her  beautiful  pair,  they 
were  received  at  once  into  the  hearts  of  this  lady  and  gen- 
iKnian.  Their  weary  spirits  were  soothed,  and  their  deso- 
late hearts  comforted.  A  thousand  acts  of  almost  motherly 
kindness  from  Mrs.  Crawford  at  last  began  to  pierce  the 
veil  of  grief  in  which  the  young  girl  had  wrapped  herself. 
The  hopeless  melancholy  of  her  lovely  face  gave  place  to  a 
less  dejected  look  —  she  began  to  eat  more  than  a  bird  or  a 


96  THE  senator's  son. 

kitten  —  and  the  roses  resumed  their  seat  upon  her  cheeks, 
though  paler  roses  than  those  of  old. 

"If  you  would  only  let  me  love  you  more  —  if  you 
would  only  accept  my  love/'  the  lady  would  say,  laying  her 
hand  upon  Alice's  drooping  head,  and  looking  yearningly 
into  her  sweet  face. 

Mrs.  Crawford  was  a  pretty  little  woman,  still  youthful- 
looking,  with  large,  blue  eyes,  a  delicate,  transparent  com- 
plexion, and  a  charming  smile.  Alice's  heart  would  melt 
with  gratitude  at  the  touch  of  her  light  hand  upon  her  head, 
as  she  would  tearfully  reply  to  those  fond  looks  which 
seemed  to  beseech  a  daughter's  love. 

"  I  do  let  you  love  me  —  I  am  thankful  for  every  bit  of 
affection  which  you  give  me,  I  am  so  grateful  for  it  —  so 
glad  of  it  —  and  you  are  so  dear  to  me  —  dearer  than  any 
one  else  in  the  world  but  Parke  —  but  your  speaking  so 
softly  makes  me  cry,  because  it  is  so  like  my  own  mother. 
Oh  !Mrs.  Crawford,  how  can  I  live  without  my  mother !" 

The  lady  would  take  the  fair  head  upon  her  bosom,  and 
cheer  away  the  flowing  tears,  while  all  the  time  her  own 
heart,  yearning  for  a  mother's  bliss  and  blessing,  would  be 
secretly  jealous  of  that  touching  fidelity  to  a  parent's 
memory. 

"  You  shall  have  two  mothers,  darling,"  she  would  say, 
"  one  in  heaven  looking  down  upon  you  with  the  power  of 
an  angel  to  protect  and  guard  —  and  an  humble  earthly 
mother  who  will  never  tire  of  taking  care  of  you  here." 

Parke  used  a  man's  expedient  for  driving  away  grief. 


THE    senator's    SON.  »  97 

He  became  very  much  immersed  in  study  and  business. 
He  made  fine  proficiency  in  the  law^  and  did  a  good  many 
little  afiairs  of  the  office  for  his  guardian.  He  copied  and 
transacted  commissions  of  trust  which  it  might  be  conveni- 
ent for  Mr.  Crawford  to  transfer  to  him.  His  evenings  he 
invariably  spent  with  Alice.  The  older  people  said  and  felt 
that  their  house  had  never  seemed  so  home-like  as  since 
these  young  folks  had  come  to  gild  its  gloomy  corners  with 
the  sunshine  of  beauty  and  youth.  Mr.  Crawford  was  ner- 
vous, not  naturally  the  most  cheerful  of  men,  and  some- 
times trifles  would  disconcert  the  harmony  of  his  feelings 
A.lice's  eye  was  so  Cjuick,  her  foot  so  fleet,  her  hand  so 
ready,  and  her  voice  so  soft,  that  she  pleased  him  more  than 
any  one  he  had  ever  had  about  him.  She  must  read  to  him, 
sing  to  him,  wait  upon  his  morning  meal,  and  attend  upon 
his  evening  easy-chair  and  slippers. 

Pai-ke  must  play  chess  with  him,  and  let  him  beat  about 
three  times  out  of  four ;  so  that  with  the  acquisition  of  two 
such  excellent  children,  his  happiness  was  greatly  increased, 
and  his  nerves  kept  comparatively  comfortable. 


CHAPTER    V. 

'■'•  Parke  Madison  has  been  playing  saint  since  he  got 
that  weed  on  his  hat.  Deuce  take  him  !  he  used  to  be  one 
of  us,  and  we  can't   afford  to  spare  him.'' 

'^  His  acquaintance  would  be  worth  cultivating  if  he 
were  not  so  uncomfortably  good  all  at  once.  I  wish  I  stood 
in  his  shoes.  I  tell  you  what  it  is  Hal ,  to  be  coming  into 
such  a  property  as  he  is  in  less  than  three  months,  to  be  the 
adQpteJ  son  of  that  rich  old  lord  of  a  lawyer,  to  have  the 
entree  of  the  most  unexceptionable  circles,  the  most  distant 
stars  of  the  aristocracy,  and  to  own  such  a  glorious  sister, 
is  too  much  for  one  man,  if  he  is  pretty  bright  and  good- 
looking.  It  makes  me  envious  to  think  of  it,  while  here  T 
am  hanging  on  to  the  narrow  skirt  of  an  old  aunt  that  may 
live  a  thousand  years  to  distress  me  with  playing  the  dutiful. 
If  there's  anything  I  hate  its  hypocrisy, — I'd  rather  be 
known  for  what  I  am,  a  lover  of  good-living,  and  a  patron 
of  Fleming's,  than  the  discreet  darling  of  a  maiden-aunt. 
As  for  Madison,  I  mean  to  bring  him  down." 


THE    senator's    SON.  99 

^'  Pooh  !  let  the  fellow  alone.  I  am  glad  he  is  doing 
better.  There  is  nothing  to  prevent  his  being  an  honor  to 
the  town ;  and  if  he  has  a  mind  to  be,  I  have  no  objections. 
It  would  be  a  pity  —  it  would  seriously  —  to  see  him  throw 
himself  away  on  a  few  years  of  dissipation.  He's  made  of 
fine  stuff,  I  can  assure  you,  and  will  not  stand  much  wear 
and  tear." 

"  Those  are  fine  sentiments  for  you,  Henry  Jenkins ; 
but  you  must  remember  that  our  pockets  are  not  as  well 
lined  as  his,  while  our  ambition  is  as  great.  He  has  more 
than  he  wants,  and  he  might  as  well  pay  for  our  suppers, 
our  horses,  and  our  debts  of  honor  as  anybody  else." 

"  That's  a  very  sage  remark  of  yours,  my  friend,  t)ut  I 
guess  you'll  have  to  give  young  Madison  up.  I  have  heard 
that  he  promised  his  mother  upon  her  death-bed  to  never 
taste  of  wine  again,  and  you  know  a  fellow  that  will  not 
drink,  is  too  cool-headed  to  be  victimized." 

"I'll  lay  you  a  wager  of  anything  you  please,  that  I 
will  get  him  drunk  within  one  week,  despite  of  his  promise." 

"  Pshaw  !  impossible  !  I'll  stake  my  black  horse,  Otello, 
against  that  diamond  on  your  little  finger,  that  you  do  no 
such  thing." 

"  Done.  The  living  are  more  powerful  than  the  dead, 
my  dear  boy,  and  you  may  prepare  your  mind  to  part  from 
your  favorite  steed : 

•'  '  For  he'll  never  bear  his  master  more 

Through  the  bright  ranks  of Broadway.'  " 


100  THE  senator's  son. 

The  speakers  were  two  young  men,  occupying  a  private 
room  at  Fleming's.  A  bottle  of  wine,  another  of  brandy,  a 
bowl  of  sugar,  some  iced  water,  a  brilliant  lamp,  and  a  pack 
of  cards  occupied  the  table  at  which  they  sat.  This  table 
was  drawn  up  to  the  coal-stove,  whose  ruddy  glare  threw  a 
warm  lustre  over  the  handsomely-framed  pictures,  the  costly 
curtains,  and  rich  carpet  which  decorated  the  apartment. 
The  polished  boots  of  Henry  Jenkins  rested  their  elegant 
soles  against  the  top  of  the  stove  ;  his  stylish  imperial,  care- 
fully arranged  black  hair,  handsome  but  dissipated  counte- 
nance, and  bold,  dark  eyes,  glimmered  mistily  through  the 
blue  clouds,  floating  in  airy  undulations  around  his  head, 
and  emanating,  like  the  smoke  from  the  crater  of  Vesuvius, 
from  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  where  glowed  a  fairy  spark, 
that  was  undoubtedly  the  nearly-consumed  end  of  a  fragrant 
cigar.  Below  this  misty  personification  of  a  volcano,  his 
shirt-bosom  gleamed  like  a  snowy  plain.  It  was  fringed 
with  dainty  ruffles  of  cambric ;  and  sparkling  in  its  centre, 
as  a  fountain  might  sparkle  in  the  midst  of  a  plain,  was  a 
diamond  pin  of  great  brilliancy. 

A  well-shaped  hand,  unsoiled  by  contact  with  things 
more  useful  and  laborious  than  white-kid  gloves,  supple  rat- 
tans, and  dealing  the  cards,  reposed  gracefully  in  his  bosom, 
and  its  mate  was  employed  alternately  in  removing  the 
mysterious  fire  from  his  lips,  and  in  raising  to  the  same 
place  a  glass  of  brandy-and-water.  His  companion,  sitting 
opposite,  leaned  his  elbows  upon  the  table,  and  dipped 
lumps  of  sugar  in  brandy,  displayed  while  nibbling  at  them 


I 


THE    senator's    SON.  101 

a  very  fine  set  of  teeth ;  but  his  features  were  not  otherwise 
prepossessing.  His  hair  and  whiskers  could  not  be  coaxed 
into  the  elegant  silkiness  of  his  friend's;  his  cheeks  and 
nose  had  a  certain  glow  that  does  7iot  indicate  early  rising 
and  morning  air,  but  evening  staying-up  and  night  air  — 
which  speaks  more  of  the  freshness  of  mint  than  of  roses. 
A  weak  look  in  his  light-grey  eyes,  which  grey  was  origi- 
nally designed  for  blue,  but  had  faded  out,  indicated  that 
the  jeweled  eye-glass  which  hung  at  his  watch-chain  might 
be  designed  for  use  as  well  as  ornament.  His  dress  was 
unexceptionable,  and  his  manner  might  be  agreeable  when 
guarded  in  the  society  of  ladies ;  but  here  it  was  reckless 
and  almost  vulgar. 

"  That  ring  was  given  me  by  my  afi'ectionate  Aunt,  on 
my  last  birth-day,"  he  said,  with  a  light  laugh,  "  and  she 
would  be  very  inquisitive  if  she  missed  it  from  my  finger ; 
but  I  am  willing  to  run  the  risks.  I  never  met  a  young 
gentleman  yet  who  could  not  call  himself  of  age  who  could 
not  be  coaxed  or  fooled  into  a  peep  at  the  mysteries  of 
Fleming's." 

"  But  this  one  has  cut  his  eye-teeth.  He  has  been  be- 
hind the  scenes  with  the  best  of  us,  —  the  worst,  I  mean," 
—  with  a  mocking  smile;  ^^so  you'd  better  resign  your 
Aunt's  diamonds  and  let  the  baby  alone." 

With  an  expression  of  infinite  contempt  upon  his  face, 
that  ^  one  of  us '  could  have  been  so  weak  as  to  have  re- 
formed, Harry  Jenkins  finished  his  cigar,  buttoned  up  his 
coat,  rang  the  bell  for  the  waiter,  and,  after  paying  for  their 
9* 


102  THE    senator's    SON. 

evening's  amusement,  took  his  companion's  arm  and  sallied 
out  in  searcli  of  their  hotel,  four  hours  after  their  intended 
victim  was  safely  asleep  under  his  guardian's  roof. 

A  few  evenings  after  this,  as  Parke  was  walking  briskly 
home,  with  a  new  book  in  his  hand,  which  he  designed 
reading  with  Alice,  one  of  his  cast-off  acquaintance,  to 
whom  he  had  hardly  spoken  since  his  return  to  the  city,  six 
months  before,  came  up  and  put  his  arm  in  his. 

<'  How  do  you  do,  Madison  ?"  he  said,  famiharly. 

"  How  do  you  do,  St.  Ormond  ? ''  was  the  cold  response. 

^' Will  you  please  to  walk  up  here  a  moment?"  con- 
tinued the  other,  as  they  came  opposite  the  rooms  of  the 
speaker;  "I  have  something  that  I  wish  your  judgment 
upon  very  much." 

"  I  am  in  haste  to-night;  will  it  not  do  in  the  morning 
when  I  am  going  to  the  office  ?  "  replied  Parke,  hesitating ; 
for  he  dreaded  to  even  set  foot  in  any  of  his  old  haunts. 

^^  It  is  doubtful  about  my  being  out  of  bed  at  so  unsea- 
sonable an  hour,"  said  St.  Ormond,  laughing ;  "  I  wish  to 
show  you  a  statue  of  Hebe,  which  has  just  arrived  from 
Italy,  to-day,  by  my  especial  order.  They  say  it  shows  best 
by  lamp-light." 

Sculpture  we  know  was  one  of  Parke's  passions,  and  he 
turned  eagerly,  and  followed  his  companion  up  a  flight  of 
stairs,  where  a  door  from  the  landing  led  them  into  two 
large  and  handsome  rooms.  Young  Madison  drew  back 
when  he  saw  half-a-dozen  or  more  of  his  old  associates 
lounging  about  the  apartments.     He  would  fairly  have  ran 


THE    senator's    SON.  103 

away  had  lie  not  felt  too  dignified ;  and  a  glimpse  of  the 
beautiful  work  of  art  which  stood  unveiled  just  within  the 
folding-doorS;  glowing  with  life-like  loveliness  in  the  blaze 
of  light  arranged  to  fall  over  it,  arrested  him. 

Every  gentleman  came  forward  and  greeted  him  with 
marked  earnestness  and  cordiality,  expressing  in  looks  or 
words  their  regret  for  his  recent  affliction,  and  making  no 
boisterous  display  of  their  pleasure  at  seeing  him  among 
them.  Thankful  for  their  respectful  sympathy,  he  went 
forward  with  a  more  comfortable  feeling  to  admire  the 
sculptured  Hebe. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?''  asked  the  owner, 
when  the  young  amateur  had  stood  several  moments  wholly 
lost  in  delight  and  admiration. 

"  Exquisite  !  wonderful ! "  replied  he,  in  pleased  tones, 
gazing  upon  the  lovely,  uplifted  head,  with  its  backward- 
streaming  curls,  its  garland,  and  its  face  of  smiling  beauty ; 
upon  the  matchless  grace  of  the  bended  knee  and  foot,  the 
delicate  roundness  of  the  arms,  the  perfect  symmetry  of 
the  hands  bearing  the  cup,  and  upon  the  youthful  buoyancy 
of  her  kneeling  posture. 

"  How  naturally  the  drapery  falls  to  her  elegant  limbs, 
as  if  it  were  the  pliable  silken  fabric  itself,  instead  of  un- 
yielding marble,"  he  continued,  after  a  long  contemplation. 

"  And  how  lightly  the  fingers  of  the  left  hand  lie  upon 
the  cup,  as  if  all  the  duty  of  bearing  it  devolved  upon  the 
right,"  said  St.  Ormond.  Harry  thinks  the  fore-arm  is 
shortened  a  little  too  much,  and  the  upper-lip  ditto.     As  for 


104 


THE    SEXATOR  S    SON. 


me,  I  think  the  mouth  is  lovelj  as  a  dream,  and  the  exqui- 
site upjDer  lip  is  half  the  charm;  but  Jenkins  is  always 
critical.  If  I  could  find  a  pair  of  lips  like  these,  belonging 
to  a  living,  breathing  woman,  I  swear  I  would  kiss  them  if 
they  beautified  the  face  of  a  nun  ! " 

Parke  was  just  about  to  say  that  the  mouth  was  pre- 
cisely like  his  sister  Alice's,  but  the  latter  part  of  the  re- 
mark checked  him,  and  he  was  glad  that  he  had  not 
breathed  her  name  in  that  place. 

"  I  see  no  fault  in  the  work  now,'^  he  said,  as  he  turned  to 
go,  '^  but  I  am  probably  blinded  by  profound  admiration ;  I 
congratulate  you,  St.  Ormond,  upon  possessing  such  a  gem.'' 

"  It  is  a  costly  gem,  I  assure  you.  It  was  rather  ex- 
travagant in  me  to  order  it,  but  I  have  a  passion  for  such 
things.     What !  you  are  not  going?'' 

"  Yes,  I  must  go.  I  thank  you  for  this  peep  at  your 
glorious  Hebe,  and  will  come  again  with  your  permission  to 
look  at  her.'' 

"  "We  are  going  to  have  a  bit  of  supper  by-and-by,  Mad- 
ison, and  I  shall  take  it  as  a  positive  affront  if  you  leave 
us,  for  this  is  my  birth-night,  and  my  friends  ought  to  take 
pleasure  in  celebrating  it. 

"  I  have  a  sufiiciont  excuse  for  not  joining  any  such 
party  as  this,"  said  Parke,  moving  to  the  door.  ^'-  If  I  do 
not  visit  any  one,  you  cannot  take  it  as  a  particular  slight, 
and  will  pardon  mc."  St.  Ormond  closed  the  door  and 
turned  the  key  as  he  said  with  a  most  ftiscinating  and  over- 
powering manner  — 


THE   senator's   SON.  105 

"  We  do  all  respect  your  grief  for  your  great  loss.  But 
we  hold  that  it  is  neither  wise  nor  right  for  you  to  retire 
any  longer  from  all  suitable  society  of  your  age,  and  mope 
away  your  brightest  years  in  the  dust  of  a  law-ofl&ce.  No 
one  should  desire  that  you  should  waste  your  health  nor 
deny  yourself  reasonable  enjoyment.  Youth  was  made  for 
happiness.  Come,  Parke,  my  dear  fellow,  be  contented  to 
remain.  It  is  only  a  quiet  supper ;  and  we  are  going  to 
break  up  early.  If  you  consent  to  stay  with  us  a  little 
while,  just  long  enough  to  eat  an  English  oyster,  or  a  prai- 
rie chicken,  we  will  pledge  ourselves  to  be  perfectly  deco- 
rous while  you  remain.'^ 

Parke  looked  around.  The  fire  of  youth  glowed  warmly 
in  his  heart,  and  emotions  long  slumbering  in  quiet  thrilled 
his  frame.  The  youthful  Hebe  holding  out  the  wine-cup 
with  that  impassioned  smile,  as  if  she  were  a  living,  bloom- 
ing woman,  the  fragrance  of  some  costly  flowers  upon 
the  mantel,  the  bewitching  odor  of  some  purposely-spilled 
wine,  the  glow  of  lamps,  the  sound  of  enchanting  music 
played  softly  in  an  adjoining  room,  the  sight  of  cordial 
faces,  were  all  overcoming  the  placid  purpose  of  his  mind  in 
a  sense  of  pleasure. 

"  If  I  should  stay,  I  would  not  touch  wine,  and  would 
only  remain  a  half-hour  at  the  table,"  he  said  to  himself. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  nine  o'clock,  and  Alice 
had  been  waiting  for  him  an  hour.  At  that  moment,  fold- 
ing doors  opened  into  a  third  apartment,  from  whence  pro- 
ceeded the  invisible  music.     A  table,  bountifully  decorated 


106  THE   senator's    SON. 

with  living  flowers,  and  flooded  with  light,  upon  which  a 
faultless  supper  was  delicately  displayed,  occupied  this  room. 

"  You  see  that  I  sup  three  hours  earlier  than  I  used  to. 
You  can  be  at  home,  if  you  wish,  by  ten  o'clock." 

Up  between  the  gorgeous  apartment,  with  its  music, 
lamps  and  flowers,  its  pleasurable  atmosphere  and  impure 
faces,  arose  to  the  spiritual  sight  of  Parke,  a  room  flooded 
with  sunset  radiance,  sweetened  with  the  faint  breath  of 
lilacs,  and  his  mother  tranced  in  her  dying  visions. 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  cannot  stay.  Grood  evening,  gen- 
tlemen." He  turned  to  open  the  door.  It  was  fastened, 
and  the  guests  all  came  towards  him  in  a  body ;  laughing, 
and  laying  hold  of  him,  they  would  have  carried  him  into 
the  supper-room. 

"  Gentlemen  !"  he  said,  shaking  them  ofi",  and  standing 
erect  with  flashing  eyes.  "  This  is  unpardonable  rudeness. 
If  any  one  lays  a  finger  upon  me,  it  will  be  at  his  peril.  St. 
Ormond,  unlock  that  door  I" 

His  first  anger  and  icy,  untouchable  look,  caused  his 
detainer  to  open  the  door  and  forbear  further  efi'ort. 

Following  Parke  outside,  he  begged  pardon  for  the 
thoughtlessness  of  his  guests,  saying  that  they  desired  him 
to  remain  so  much  that  they  had  forgotten  his  claims  to 
their  consideration. 

"  Come  to-morrow  at  twelve  and  visit  with  Hebe  as 
long  as  you  like,"  were  his  parting  words,  and  Parke,  some- 
what abating  his  resentment,  wended  his  way  home. 

"  You  have  lost  your  bet,"  cried  the  delighted  set  as 


THE   senator's   SON.  lO"] 


soon  as  their  host  re-appeared.     Henry  Jenkins  wears  the 


nno: 


\" 


"  Be  quiet,  my  friends,  if  you  please,  and  come  to  supper. 
It  will  be  cold,  I  am  thinking,  before  we  set  down  to  it ; 
and,  as  it  is  rather  early  for  our  fashionable  appetites,  there 
will  be  two  drawbacks  to  its  perfection." 

"  The  man  who  cannot  find  an  appetite  for  one  of  St. 
Ormond's  suppers,  even  at  nine  o'clock,  is  to  be  pitied," 
said  one ;  and  all  gathered  around  the  board  enjoyed  the 
discomfited  looks  of  their  host. 

^^  Gentlemen ! "  he  said,  after  he  had  himself  carved  a 
rare  bird,  which  the  waiters  set  before  him,  and  gave  a  bit 
of  it  to  all  who  desired,  ^Uhere  remain  two  days  yet  before 
this  bet  is  decided.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  I  stall  ride 
Henry's  princely  Otello  yet.  You  have  all  of  you  an  invi- 
tation to  be  my  guests  to-morrow  night ;  at  what  hour,  and 
in  what  rooms,  I  will  let  you  know  in  the  morning." 

This  speech,  made  with  recovered  composure  and  seem- 
ing confidence,  was  received  with  great  applause.  No  one 
seemed  to  think  that  there  was  anything  more  important  at 
stake  than  a  fine  horse  and  a  diamond  ring.  The  promise 
given  to  a  dying  mother,  the  ruin  of  a  noble  soul,  and  the 
unhappiness  of  a  family  of  friends,  were  not  taken  at  all  int-o 
account.  Some  of  the  guests  glaneed  over  the  costly  exot- 
ics, the  marble  Hebe,  the  rare  wine,  and  the  celebrated  mu- 
sicians, and  wondered  what  greater  temptations  money  could 
purchase.  The  pleasure  of  anticipation  added  a  new  charm 
to  the  present  hour. 


108  THE    senator's    SON. 

In  the  meantime  Parke  hurried  home  as  if  the  tempter 
5till  pursued  him.  It  was  not  until  he  was  fairly  in  the 
presence  of  Alice  that  he  felt  safe.  The  beaming  smile  with 
which  she  met  him,  the  soft  pressure  of  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  her  lips  upon  his  cheek,  were  never  more  wel- 
come. And  when  he  sat  down  beside  her  upon  the  sofa, 
and  she  nestled  her  head  in  his  bosom  and  looked  up  into 
his  face  with  a  happier  smile  than  she  had  worn  since  their 
mother's  death,  his  breast  swelled  with  thanks  to  God  for 
saving  him  from  imminent  peril,  and  he  secretly  renewed 
his  vow,  as  he  held  has  fair  sister  closely  in  his  arms. 

"  What  if  I  had  been  tempted  to  remain  —  then  tempted 
to  drink  —  and  returned  to  her  with  the  fumes  of  wine  upon 
my  lips  ?  "  he  asked  himself,  with  a  shudder.  "  Would  she 
not  have  paled  and  shrunk  away  from  me  ?  —  would  she 
not  have  reproached  and  despised  me,  and  tortured  me  with 
the  memory  of  my  pledge  ?  instead  of  clinging  to  me  with 
such  love,  such  confidence,  such  innocent  sweetness." 

It  was  too  late  to  cut  the  pages  of  the  new  book.  The 
rest  of  the  family  had  retired,  and  after  an  hour  of  happy 
conversation,  the  young  Madisons  followed  the  example, 
Icavinc:  their  volume  for  the  next  evenino;'s  entertainment. 

But  when  the  evening  came,  Parke  bethought  him  of  its 
being  the  night  of  the  weekly  lectures  upon  law,  the  science 
of  government,  and  such  other  subjects,  which  he  lately  at- 
tended. So  Alice  was  fain  to  content  herself  with  her  mu- 
sic, and  a  new  number  of  the  Mirror,  as  they  were  resolved 
to  enjoy  the  reading  of  the  book  together. 


THE  senator's  son.  109 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  the  lecture  closed,  and  Parke 
was  walking  briskly  home  through  the  sleet  and  rain  of  a 
dreary  November  night,  picturing  to  himself  the  fine  warmth 
of  the  grate  in  the  back  parlor,  with  Alice  waiting  for  him 
alone  before  the  fire,  perhaps  ensconced  in  Mr.  Crawford's 
great  chair,  or  perhaps  leaning  pensively  with  her  forehead 
against  the  mantel,  as  she  sometimes  did.  He  had  reached 
the  square  in  which  the  house  was  situated.  It  was  so 
quiet  and  aristocratic  a  part  of  the  city  that  the  police  were 
not  very  watchful ;  and  as  he  turned  the  corner  h&  heard  a 
slight  scream,  and  beheld,  by  the  dim  light  of  the  street- 
lamp,  a  female  struggling  in  the  arms  of  a  man. 

"  Scoundrel ! "  shouted  the  young  man,  with  a  power- 
ful blow  in  the- face  of  the  villain.  Anger  had  given  him 
strength,  and  the  reeling  man,  thinking  such  an  opponent 
not  to  be  despised,  took  to  his  heels,  leaving  the  object  of 
his  pursuit  fainting  in  the  arms  of  her  protector.  Parke 
feeling  her  slender  figure  sinking  heavily  upon  his  arm,  bore 
her  closer  to  the  light,  and  lifted  the  wet  hood  from  her 
face.  It  was  a  youthful  face  and  beautiful,  though  now  the 
eyes  were  closed  in  terror. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  child,  where  do  you  belong?"  said 
the  young  man  j  "  and  why  are  you  out  unprotected  this 
dreary  night  ?"  "  Oh,  Sir,"  she  sobbed,  unclosing  her  large 
dark  eyes,  ''  if  you  will  only  take  me  home ;  my  mother  is 
very  sick  —  I  was  afraid  she  would  die,  and  went  out  for 
the  doctor  and  got  lost ;  oh,  Sir,  please  to  take  me  home  ! " 
10 


110  THE   senator's    SON. 

"Poor  young  creature!"  said  Parke,  "where  is  your 
home  —  where  shall  I  take  you  to  V^ 

She  named  a  number  in  a  miserable  street  of  the  sub- 
urbs. It  was  some  distance,  but  the  young  man  would 
have  walked  miles  in  a  colder  storm  than  that,  rather  than 
leave  the  shivering,  frightened  girl  to  find  her  way  alone. 

"  I  can  take  you  there,"  he  said,  supporting  her  upon 
his  arm,  and  walking  as  fast  as  she  seemed  able  to  go. 

"  How  Alice  would  pity  her  ! "  he  thought,  as  he  felt 
her  clinging  tightly  to  his  arm.  She  spoke  only  once  as 
they  hurried  along  the  pavement,  and  then  she  uttered, 
sadly  —  "  Alas  I  my  mother ! " 

They  came  to  the  No.,  and  he  was  about  to  leave  her  at 
the  foot  of  the  wretched-looking  stairs,  when  she  asked  him 
in  a  soft  voice  if  he  would  not  go  up  with  her  and  see  her 
parent  ?  "She  may  be  dead,"  she  cried  wildly,  and  fled  up 
the  narrow  way. 

He  followed  almost  as  fleetly,  and  they  entered  a  deso- 
late-looking chamber,  through  which  they  passed  into  an 
inner  room.  Parke  stood  amazed  and  bewildered  when  he 
found  himself  in  a  large  apartment,  in  which  the  defects  of 
age  were  so  concealed  by  furniture  that  it  looked  quite  com- 
fortable, and  surrounded  by  a  party  of  gentlemen  instead 
of  in  the  presence  of  poverty  and  sickness. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  his  conductress,  "  I  -have  brought 
you  a  guest;"  and  shutting  the  door  on  him,  she  dis:ip- 
peared. 

He  was  greeted  with  shouts  of  merriment. 


TEE   SENATOR'S   SON.  DJi 

^^Well  done,  Mr.  Madison!"  cried  St.  Ormond,  '^  to 
decline  our  company  so  stoutly  last  night,  as  if  it  would 
harm  your  youthful  innocence.  And  now  you  stumble 
upon  us  in  tJiat  society.  Well,  we  forgive  you  the  past; 
you  are  as  welcome  as  unexpected." 

Blushing  with  shame  and  confusion,  he  would  again 
have  made  good  his  retreat ;  hut  the  door  was  barricaded 
by  the  laughing  group,  and  he  could  not  now  fall  back  upon 
his  dignity,  appearances  being  so  much  against  him. 

"  I  beg  of  you  to  hear  me,"  he  cried  earnestly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  must  be  an  excellent  story,"  interrupted 
another  j  "  we  are  all  anxious  to  hear  it.  But  first  take  a 
comfortable  seat,  and  tell  the  tale  at  your  ease." 

They  seized  him  by  the  arms  and  sat  him  down  in  a 
chair. 

"  Take  a  sip  of  something  to  give  spirit  to  your  narra- 
tive," said  St.  Ormond,  approaching  him  with  a  glass  of 
wine  on  a  server.  The  laughter  and  jeers  of  the  company 
maddened  the  sensitive  young  man  into  forgetfulness  of 
everything  but  his  present  situation.  Humiliated,  angry, 
thrown  entirely  off  his  guard,  he  thought  of  nothing  but 
of  being  equal  with  them. 

"  I  am  neither  a  fool  or  a  coward  ! "  he  said,  seizing  the 
glass  and  tossing  it  off  with  an  air  of  affected  carelessness. 

Yet  the  moment  he  had  drank  it,  he  felt  that  he  was 
both,  and  worse  —  oh,  a  thousand  times  worse  ! 

"  What  have  I  done?"  he  cried  inwardly,  with  agony. 

"  That  will  make  a  man  of  you,  I  am  sure,"  said  Harry 


112  THE   senator's   SON. 

Jenkins,  tauntingly.  ^' Now  let  us  have  the  interesting 
history  of  your  adventures,  and  how  you  happened  into 
this  out-of-the-way  spot." 

The  wine,  which  was  mingled  with  a  goodly  portion  of 
brandy,  flew  to  Parke's  already  excited  brain.  He  gave 
them  a  grotesque  account  of  his  rescue  of  the  young  girl, 
drinking,  while  he  talked,  all  the  liquor  that  was  offered 
him ;  and  ridiculing  his  own  tender-heartedness  in  coming 
up  to  see  her  sick  mother.  St.  Ormond  soon  had  the  plea- 
sure of  seeing  him  drunk  as  he  well  could  be,  and  of  being 
congratulated  as  the  owner  of  the  splendid  Otello. 

^^  It  has  cost  me  five  times  as  much  as  the  horse  is 
worth,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  But  I  can  make  it  pay  well, 
with  that  simpleton  in  my  power  3 "  and  he  glanced  coolly 
towards  the  unfortunate  victim  of  their  heartless  wager. 

He  would  hardly  have  thought  the  iclat  of  the  thing 
amongst  his  own  set,  nor  the  future  spoils  out  of  Parke 
Madison's  fortune,  would  pay,  if  he  had  thought  of  the  ac- 
count set  down  against  him  in  the  Book  of  the  just  Judge 
of  the  Universe,  which  must  sometime  be  accurately  settled. 
But  he  did  not  think  of  that,  or  if  he  did  he  dismissed  the 
unpleasant  reflection,  as  he  said  in  high  good-humor,  — 

"  Good  friends  and  fellows !  you  will  now  do  me  the 
honor  to  sup  with  me  at  Fleming's.  Mr.  Madison,  I  dare 
say  you  have  no  objections  to  accompanying  us.  Allow  me 
to  ofier  you  an  arm  —  I  see  that  your  nerves  are  agitated  by 
the  undue  trial  to  which  they  were  subjected  a  short  time 
ago ;  you  do  not  walk  with  the  boldness  becoming  a  man 


THE   senator's    SON.  113 

who  has  knocked  down  another  and  rescued  a  poor  child 
from  being  carried  off/' 

The  whole  company  fastened  on  their  cloaks  and  made 
their  way  to  Fleming's  with  just  little  enough  noise  to  es- 
cape from  the  embarrassment  of  being  locked  up  for  the 
night.  Here  Parke,  lost  to  all  sense  of  propriety,  caroused 
as  long  and  as  high  as  the  wildest  of  his  gay  associates. 
His  ^  promise  to  pay  when  he  should  become  of  age/  to 
the  amount  of  three  hundred  dollars,  was  in  the  hands  of 
Harry  Jenkins  when  he  left,  and  five  hundred  with  St. 
Ormond. 

One  of  the  company,  whom  liquor  did  not  affect  in  so 
woful  a  manner,  escorted  him  to  the  door  of  Mr.  Crawford's 
residence,  and  there  bade  him  good  night,  though  it  was 
nearly  morning. 

Alice,  who  had  waited  through  the  long  and  dreary 
hours,  a  cold  weight  of  dread  sinking  heavier  every  moment 
upon  her  heart,  sprang  to  the  door,  as  she  heard  him  endea- 
voring to  open  it.  Letting  him  in,  she  clasped  his  hand 
and  led  him  to  the  light. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  had  been  murdered,"  she  murmured, 
looking  up  into  his  face. 

The  next  moment  she  sprang  from  him  as  if  she  had 
been  stung  by  an  adder. 

"  Parke  Madison  !  you  are  drunk!"  she  said  in  a  stern 
voice,  while  her  face  grew  as  pale  as  ashes. 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear,  you  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  smiling 
up  n    her  witli    vn    air   of   good   nature.      "  I   know    most 

lu* 


114  THE    senator's    SON. 

people  would  tliiiik  so,  but  you  ought  to  know  me  better/' 
he  continued,  with  drunken  gravity. 

"  You  have  broken  your  promise  to  our  mother  —  you 
have  degraded  yourself — have  sinned  beyond  repentance  — 
are  lost ! "  she  cried,  walking  hastily  to  and  fro,  wringing 
her  hands.  "  Oh,  my  brother,  do  you  know  what  you  have 
done?" 

She  paused  before  him,  with  the  tears  streaming  down 
her  white  face  —  her  hands  were  involuntarily  lifted  as  if 
deprecating  the  divine  anger  which  might  visit  so  dark  a 
perjury. 

"I  —  I  suppose  I've  been  taking  supper  at  Fleming's, 
from  my  feelings,"  was  the  stammering  reply  to  her  solemn 
inquiry.  ^' W*hat  are  you  crying  about,  Allie  ?  I've  — 
I've  not  been  drinking,  though  you  may  have  some  reason 
to  suppose  so.  Cheer  up,  sis,  and  if  you  hear  anything 
about  the  aifair  at  Fleming's,  you  need  not  believe  it." 

She  sank  down  in  a  chair  in  a  stupor  of  indignation  and 
grief,  which  settled  down  into  despair. 

"  Oh,  Parke  !  Parke  !"  she  cried  in  a  low  voice,  "  my 
happiness  is  gone  forever.  You  have  made  me  indeed 
miserable." 

He  took  up  a  small  lamp  and  ascended  the  hall-stairs. 

^'  Do  not  make  any  more  noise  than  you  can  avoid  — 
walk  lightly,"  pleaded  his  sister  coming  after,  for  she  did 
not  know  but  that  this  night's  ruinous  work  might  l>e  kept 
from  their  kind  protectors. 

She  followed  hira  to  the  door  of  his  room  an:l  thoa  has?- 


THE    senator's    SON.  115 

tened  to  her  owu.  She  lay  down  upon  her  bed  with  a  far 
bitterer  sorrow  than  had  shaken  her  the  night  of  her  moth- 
er's death-  That  was  chastened,  holy,  and  in  a  measure 
hopeful  —  this  was  burning,  sudden,  and  dark,  mingled 
with  shame,  fear,  and  anguish.  The  brief  remainder  of  the 
night  passed  sleeplessly  away.  She  arose  at  seven  to  break- 
fast with  Mr.  Crawford,  as  was  her  custom,  the  rest  of  the 
family  not  breakfasting  until  nine,  during  the  cold  weather. 
He  noticed  her  pale  cheeks  and  spiritless  expression  —  said 
he  guessed  she  got  up  too  early  to  make  his  coflfee,  and  she 
must  not  do  it  if  she  didn't  like — kissed  her  as  he  went 
out  —  and  then  she  laid  down  on  the  library  sofa,  waiting 
for  and  dreading,  she  hardly  dared  to  think  of  what. 

The  two  hours  passed  by,  and  neither  Mrs.  Crawford  or 
Parke  came  down  to  breakfast.  The  former  was  quite  in- 
disposed and  had  taken  her  coffee  in  her  room.  Alice  went 
in  to  see  her  a  moment,  and  then  stole  to  her  brother's  door. 
She  did  not  hear  him  dressing,  and  so  opened  it  and  en- 
tered. He  was  not  there.  Stricken  by  guilt  and  remorse 
he  had  risen  an  hour  before,  and  crept  out  into  the  open  air, 
where  he  might  endeavor  to  fly  from  the  faces  of  friends 
and  the  reproaches  of  his  own  conscience.  The  first  breath 
of  pure,  morning  breezes  dispelled  the  illusions  of  the  past 
evening ;  he  felt  that  he  had  been  duped  by  a  silly  artifice, 
and  then  betrayed  by  his  own  passions.  He  dared  not  go 
to  the  office,  and,  disgusted  with  himself  and  the  world,  he 
called  at  a  saloon  and  took  a  glass  of  wine  to  banish  his  hor- 
rible feelings.     TVas  a  man  in  his  situation  capable  of  self- 


116  THE  senator's  son. 

control  ?  had  he  the  full  use  of  his  own  judgment  ?  and  would 
it  have  been  arbitrary  to  have  refused  him  what  he  called 
for  ?  Or  was  the  piece  of  silver  which  he  laid  upon  the  ta- 
ble a  fair  equivalent  for  this  new  sorrow  in  his  sister's  heart, 
and  this  new  link  in  the  chain  that  was  forging  to  drag  him 
down  ? 

The  air  of  his  room  was  foul  with  the  fumes  of  his  fe- 
verish breath  and  the  odor  of  cigar-smoke  which  filled  his 
clothes. 

Alice  opened  a  window,  lest  the  servant  coming  to  regu- 
late the  apartment  should  suspect  more  than  was  pleasant. 
His  bible,  which  she  had  given  him  when  he  first  went  away 
to  college,  lay  upon  his  dressing-table;  and  the  slippers 
which  their  mother  had  embroidered  the  last  winter  of  her 
life,  set  by  the  bed-side.  She  sat  down  and  leaned  her  fore- 
head upon  the  treasured  book.  Thoughts  of  his  old  errors, 
and  the  old  unhappiness  —  days  of  sorrow  and  doubt  gone 
by  —  came  over  her ;  the  times  when  she  used  to  watch  and 
weep,  and  her  mother  to  go  about  with  a  smileless  face : 
then  of  the  bright  year  rolling  by  in  a  golden  round  of 
hopes  and  pleasures,  and  ended  by  that  heavy  mourning  for 
one  that  went  with  it  to  return  no  more  with  other  years ; 
then  of  this  worst  grief  of  any. 

"  If  he  has  broken  from  the  vow  that  he  made  a  dying 
mother,  and  in  so  short  a  time,  there  is  nothing  that  can 
restrain  him  now.  My  love  will  come  to  nought ;  it  will 
be  powerless.  Why  should  I  love  him  ?  he  is  not  worthy 
any  longer  even  of  my  forgiveness,"  she  mused  bitterly. 


THE   senator's   SON.  117 

But  the  stern  resolution  was  followed  swiftly  by  a 
memory  — 

"  Parke  —  Alice  —  love  one  another  —  be  faithful.'^ 

"  Oh,  my  mother,  I  too  promised,  and  I  will  fulfil.  I 
will  never  forsake  him  for  any  degradation  or  crime  that  he 
may  be  guilty  of.  I  will  cling  to  him  through  all  —  forgive 
him  — love  him,  and  fulfil  to  the  utmost  the  love  and  duty 
of  a  sister. '* 

She  fell  upon  her  knees  and  prayed  to  Christ  to  inter- 
cede for  her  erring  brother,  and  for  strength  to  endure  the 
day  of  trial.  It  was  long  before  a  gleam  of  consolation  en- 
tered her  soul,  but  when  she  arose  from  her  prayer,  patience 
and  love  sat  upon  her  sweet  features.  She  sat  as  long  as 
she  could  with  Mrs.  Crawford;  and  when  her  anxiety  grew 
too  strong  to  be  resisted,  she  went  down  and  stood  looking 
out  the  front  parlor  windows  at  the  passers-by,  until  her 
guardian  came  into  dinner. 

He  inquired  for  Parke,  saying,  that  he  had  not  been  in 
the  office  during  the  morning.  She  tried  to  reply  cheer- 
fully that  he  went  out  quite  early,  and  she  did  not  know 
where  he  was,  unless  he  had  ridden  out  to  the  farm. 

So  he  had;  and  he  came  back  at  dusk,  tired  and 
gloomy.  The  associations  of  the  place  had  more  than  bal- 
anced the  effects  of  the  hard  riding. 

The  ladies  were  sitting  by  the  centre-table,  knitting 
while  they  waited  for  tea. 

"  You  have  not  been  a  very  dutiful  boy,  to-day,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Crawford,  pleasantly,  as  he  drew  his  chair  up 


118  THE   senator's   SON, 

to  the  fire.  "  Here  I  have  beetl  kept  in  my  chamber  until 
about  an  hour  ago,  and  you  never  came  to  inquire  after  my 
health,  or  to  wish  me  better." 

^'  I  have  been  away  all  day  to  the  farm,"  he  replied, 
glancing  swiftly  towards  Alice,  and  back  to  the  fire  again. 

"  Good  evening,  Parke,"  said  she  in  a  gentle  voice. 

He  looked  up  and  met  the  sad  but  afiectionate  gaze  of 
her  dear  eyes,  and  his  own  fell  moodily  to  the  floor.  She 
drew  her  chair  beside  of  his,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  Once  the  look  and  the  touch  would  have  melted 
away  the  barriers  of  pride,  and  he  would  have  wept  his  con- 
trition upon  her  bosom.  But  he  had  grown  into  a  man 
now,  and  the  impressibility  of  his  nature  was  hardening  into 
less  yielding  stuff.  In  his  present  irritated  humor  he  felt 
her  affection  as  the  most  humiliating  reproach.  He  saw 
that  she  had  guarded  his  secret  from  the  family,  and  the 
very  gratitude  which  he  was  obliged  to  yield  was  more  now 
than  he  wanted  to  give.  He  was  more  discontented  than 
ever,  because  he  could  be  discontented  with  no  one  but  him- 
self. He  gazed  gloomily  into  the  fire  while  Alice  gazed 
tenderly  into  his  face.  She  knew  that  it  was  the  sullenness 
of  remorse  which  lowered  upon  the  fine  brow  and  drooped  in 
the  dark  fringes  of  those  usually  sunny  eyes.  She  longed 
to  lighten  his  burden  of  guilt,  and  to  make  him  feel  the 
greatness  of  her  affection.  The  little  hand  pressed  harder 
upon  his  shoulder,  constraining  him  to  look  again  into  those 
pure  and  pitying  eyes. 

Mr.  Crawford  came  in,  shivering  with  the  cold  of  the 


THE    senator's    SON.  119 

first  snow-storm.  He  cast  a  keen  glance  at  his  ward  as  he 
saw  him"  sitting  moodily  in  the  corner ;  but  hearing  that  he 
had  been  at  the  farm,  he,  as  well  as  his  wife,  concluded  that 
old  recollections  had  something  to  do  wath  his  taciturnity. 

Tea  was  served;  and  after  that  Alice  beckoned  her 
brother  to  a  seat  beside  her,  and  the  new  book  was  produced. 

"  I  have  kept  it  unopened  to  share  with  you,"  she  said, 
as  she  severed  the  fii'st  few  pages  with  her  silver  paper- 
folder. 

The  work  was  one  of  absorbing  interest,  but  they  did 
not  get  along  very  well.  Each  was  heedless  of  when  the 
other  turned  a  leaf,  and  both  felt  it  a  great  relief  when  the 
elder  couple  left  them  to  themselves. 

The  book  fell  from  Parke's  hand  as  they  went  out,  and 
he  sat  gazing  fixedly  upon  the  carpet.     Alice  kissed  him. 

^^  Can  you  caress  me,  then,  Alice  ?"  he  cried,  turning  to- 
wards her ;  ^^  me,  a  perjured  wretch  ?'^ 

'^  You  are  my  brother  still  —  and  ever  will  be  —  "  was 
the  grave  reply,  as  the  tears  at  last  overflowed  her  eyes. 
*'  Oh,  Parke,  I  know  there  must  have  been  great  temptation. 
Tell  me  of  something  that  will  take  away  from  the  sinful- 
ness of  your  act  —  not  that  I  cannot  and  have  not  for- 
given you  —  but  that  I  may  think  of  you  with  some  conso- 
lation." 

He  received  her  hand  and  grasped  it  tightly  in  his  own, 
as  he  went  on  to  tell  of  the  plot  that  had  been  laid  for  him, 
and  how,  carried  away  by  sudden  excitement,  he  had  weakly 
and  miserably  fell  a  victim  to  it. 


120 


^^  Oh,  my  poor  brother !  their  crime  is  greater  than 
yours  !  but  if  you  had  only  resisted  —  if  you  had  burst  from 
them  in  scorn  as  you  should  have  done !  Yet  do  not  be 
utterly  discouraged.  Grod  will  forgive  even  this,  and  he 
asks  only  repentance.     Let  us  put  our  trust  in  him." 

"  But  I  have  lost  all  trust  in  myself/'  groaned  the 
young  man.     "  My  self-respect,  my  confidence  is  gone  I" 

"Oh,  no  !  oh,  no  I  there  is  time  and  chance  to  redeem 
yourself.  Your  truest  friends,  save  me,  know  nothing  of 
this,  why  should  they  ever  ?  Grod  and  your  mother  wait 
only  your  asking  to  forgive.  L^t  us  pray  for  it  now,  and 
then  you  can  renew  your  promise.'^ 

"  I  dare  not  renew  it,  I  have  no  more  trust  in  myself. 
But  pray  for  me,  my  sister ;  never  neglect  to  do  that ;  how- 
ever low  I  may  fall  beneath  your  love." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Parke  was  banished  from  Mr.  Crawford's  house. 

For  several  weeks  after  his  first  excess,  he  had,  by  his 
sister's  aid,  concealed  his  conduct  from  the  family ;  although 
he  had  at  three  different  times  been  out  the  most  of  the 
night.  In  that  time  he  had  lost  two  thousand  dollars  at 
the  gaming-table.  When  his  guardian  discovered  these 
facts,  his  indignation  was  overwhelming.  Strict  in  the  per- 
formance of  his  own  duty,  he  was  the  sternest  judge  of  the 
faults  of  others.  Of  that  calm,  strong,  unsusceptible  tem- 
perament which  is  but  little  exposed  to  temptation,  he  could 
tolerate  in  others  of  more  yielding  minds  no  dereliction  from 
the  right.  Had  Parke  been  his  own  son  he  would  have 
turned  him  out  with  still  less  regret.  He  considered  it 
inexcusable  for  any  young  man  to  form  bad  habits  —  but 
that  a  person  educated  as  Parke  had  been  by  a  christian 
mother,  and  surrounded  by  every  inducement  to  virtue  and 
goodnes,  that  he  should  pursue  such  a  course  was  equally  as- 
11 


122  THE  senator's  son. 

astonishing  and  awful  —  and  that,  with  the  first  summer's 
flowers  withering  over  ker  grave,  in  the  very  days  of  mourn- 
ing, that  he  should  be  faithless  to  the  assurances  required  by 
that  dying  mother,  was  to  him  a  proof  of  the  utter  deprav- 
ity of  human  nature.  A  person  so  lost  to  all  remains  of 
goodness  should  not  be  allowed  to  approach  the  family-cir- 
cle gathered  around  any  hearth,  and  with  the  full  weight  of 
his  anger  he  crushed  the  young  man  in  the  presence  of  his 
sister  and  Mrs.  Crawford.  His  words  fell  scorching  upon 
the  bare  soul  of  poor  Parke,  and  the  glances  of  his  eyes 
seemed  to  wound  like  blades  of  steel.  Pale  and  c^uivering, 
the  brother  cast  a  look  upon  his  sister,  who  stood  weeping 
in  the  room;  and  strode  without  a  woixl  into  the  hall. 
Heedless  of  her  guardian's  reproof,  she  followed  him, 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm  just  as  he  opened  the  outer 
door. 

^' Parke!"  she  said,  in  a  stifled  voice,  "for  my  sake, 
for  heaven's  sake,  do  nothing  rash.  Remember  that  Jam 
the  same  as  ever." 

He  wrung  her  hand  and  darted  away.  She  returned  to 
the  parlor.  Her  heart  was  bursting  to  plead  her  brother's 
case;  but  Mr.  Crawford  was  tramping  through  the  room 
with  a  tread  as  if  his  heel  was  ground  down  every  time  into 
the  brain  of  a  wild  young  man ;  and  his  wife,  although  she 
took  the  weeping  girl  to  her  bosom,  did  not  dare  to  let  her 
open  her  lips  in  remonstrance. 

Several  days  went  slowly  by.  Alice  pined  in  silent 
sorrow  ;  for  as  her  guardian  gave  no  signs  of  relenting,  she 


THE   senator's   SON.  12S 

could  not  approach  him  upon  the  subject  which  lay  nearest 
her  thoughts.  Redoubled  kindness  was  shown  to  her,  but 
she  could  hardly  receive  it  when  the  part  that  should  have 
been  another's  was  refused  him.  Her  usually  busy  fingers 
laid  idly  in  her  lap,  the  piano  was  closed,  and  she  sat  hour 
after  hour  at  the  window,  her  sad  eyes  following  the  people 
who  passed  by,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  glimpse  of  the 
banished  one.  But  he  never  walked  on  that  street.  Pride 
>!ad  resentment  both  kept  him  from  the  most  distant  ad- 
ances,  even  to  an  interview  with  his  sister. 

One  afternoon  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door-bell.  Every 
•me  that  it  rang  of  late,  Alice's  heart  had  given  a  great 
•ound  at  the  thought  that  perhaps  it  was  Parke  who  had 
•eturned,  and  several  times  she  had  opened  the  door  herself. 
\he  hastened  to  do  so  now;  and  was  greeted  by  Alfred 
Jlyde.  He  gave  her  a  note  from  her  brother ;  and  she  in- 
fited  him  in. 

"  There  may  be  an  answer  expected,"  he  replied,  and 
jccepted  her  invitation. 

She  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Crawford,  and  withdrew  to 
I  distant  part  of  the  room  to  read  her  letter.  Her  hands 
rvere  all  in  a  tremble  as  she  broke  the  seal.  As  she  read 
the  hastily-penned  page,  the  tears  gathered  on  her  eye- 
lashes and  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  She  was  unconscious 
of  the  earnest  glances  fixed  from  time  to  time  upon  her  face 
by  the  old  acquaintance  who  sat  conversing  cosily  with  the 
elder  lady.     The  note  ran  thus  :  — 

^'  My  guardian  did  not  know  what  he  was  about  when 


124  THE  senator's  son. 

he  sent  me  away,  Alice.  It  may  be  that  I  would  have 
been  ruined  anyhow,  but  now  I  certainly  shall.  Why 
should  I  be  good,  when  I  am  thrust  out  as  fit  only  to  asso- 
ciate with  the  worst  ?  —  denied  even  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment from  you.  The  moment  it  became  known  that  I  was 
discarded  by  my  guardian,  the  whole  pack  of  my  former 
companions  were  after  me  like  cats  after  a  mouse.  They 
know  that  I  am  rich,  and  that  in  a  week  or  two  I  will  be  of 
age,  and  they  do  not  want  any  better  fellow  than  Parke 
Madison  to  pay  for  their  champagne,  or  for  a  partner  in  a 
little  game,  I  am  such  a  confounded  fool  as  to  gratify  them 

at  my  own  expense.     I  have  taken  rooms  at Hotel, 

and  if  I  am  frowned  upon  by  nice  people  like  Mr.  Crawford, 
I  am  flattered  and  praised  by  a  very  dashing  set  of  fellows, 
I  assure  you,  who  can  overlook  a  small  indiscretion,  drink 
my  wine,  pocket  my  money,  and  eat  my  suppers  with  as 
good  a  grace  as  if  I  were  better  than  the  Bishop.  Do  you 
wonder  that  I  seek  to  consol  myself  for  the  loss  of  my  good 
name  ?  A  young  man  who  has  been  publicly  disgraced, 
and  the  door  shut  upon  him  by  his  test  friends,  must  needs 
go  where  the  door  stands  wide  open,  and  a  hundred  smiling 
lips  are  calling  upon  him  to  enter  and  make  himself  at 
home.  So  I  have  been  drunk  three  days  out  of  the  eight 
since  I  left  you  —  I  have  lost  another  thousand  at  billiards, 
and  paid  for  two  champagne  suppers." 

"  Alice  !  Alice  !  can  you  forgive  me  this  reckless  talk  ? 
Yet  it  is  all  too  true.  When  I  make  a  giant-effort  to  over- 
come all,  and  make  a  better  man  of  myself,  despite  of  dis- 


THE  senator's  son.  125 

couragement  a»d  bad  reputation,  the  solitude  to  which  I 
flee  for  strength  is  peopled  with  such  frightful  shapes  of 
doubt,  remorse,  shame,  and  self-distrust,  that  I  rush  back  to 
temptation  to  get  away  from  them.  If  I  did  not  love  wine 
I  —  if  one  taste  of  it  did  not  awake  such  a  fatal  thirst,  I 
might  save  myself  from  these  lesser  evils.  But  with  this 
innate  passion,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  There  is  no  safeguard,  for 
I  have  already  destroyed  the  most  powerful ;  and  I  am  in 
despair.  Oh,  my  sister,  I  am  ready  to  cry  out  as  my 
mother  once  did  —  '  would  that  every  drop  of  alcohol  in  all 
its  Protean  shapes  was  banished  from  the  land.'  My  noble 
father  fell  its  victim-— I  shall  be  a  still  more  hopeless  one. 
Fatal  inheritance  !  my  father  has  bequeathed  me  his  incli- 
nation for  the  bowl,  and  I  am  coming  into  full  possession 
of  the  dread  bequest.  You  see  I  am  trying  to  work  my 
way  into  your  compassion,  by  laying  a  part  of  my  faults 
upon  the  shoulders  of  others.  You,  too,  may  have  cast  me 
off  by  this  time.  If  not,  send  me  some  little  word  by  Al- 
fred. Do  not  be  suspicious  of  him ;  he  is  sorry  for  me, 
and  trying  to  serve  me.  Tell  me  where  I  can  see  you, 
and  talk  with  you  a  little  while.  Parke." 

Alice  took  a  small  sheet  of  paper  from  between  the 
leaves  of  a  book,  and  wrote  with  her  pencil  — 

<' Dearest  Parke:  — You  must  not,  and  shall  not, 
stay  any  longer  where  you  now  are.  I  shall  talk  with  Mr. 
Crawford  to-night,  and  if  he  sends  you  permission  to  come 
home  to-morrow,  you  must  come  —  because  I  ask  it  of  you. 
If  he  will  not  consent,  or  if  you  will  not  accept,  then  I  shall 
11* 


126  THE  senator's  son. 

have  to  follow  you  to  your  rooms,  for  I  am  determined  that 
I  will  not  give  you  up.  Of  course  you  will  not  compel  me  to 
leave  a  safe  home  to  track  your  wandering  steps  ]  so  only  re- 
turn with  good  resolutions,  and  we  will  all  be  happy  again.^' 

Folding  it  and  giving  it  to  Mr.  Clyde,  she  bethought 
herself  of  how  her  absorbing  care  for  her  brother  had  caused 
her  to  neglect  to  pay  him  the  attention  he  was  entitled  to, 
and  which  she  felt  more  disposed  to  give  since  she  read 
what  Parke  said  of  him. 

Alfred  was  now  three-and-twenty,  and  appeared  two 
years  older.  He  was  elaborately  dressed  in  the  height  of 
the  fashion,  and  still  not  showily ;  a  rich  diamond  stud,  glow- 
ing in  the  centre  of  the  dainty  frill  of  his  shirt-bosom,  was 
the  only  article  of  jewelry  he  wore.  He  had  lost  a  little  of 
his  former  reserve,  and  talked  agreeably,  though  something 
in  the  deep  glance  of  his  eye,  and  the  low  fullness  of  his 
tones,  seemed  always  hiding  itself  from  the  observer. 

He  informed  Alice  that  his  uncle,  Mr.  Benjamin  Clyde, 
was  dead  j  that  he  had  forgiven  him  the  little  c^uarrel  that 
had  parted  them  the  year  before,  and  had  died,  regarding 
him  as  a  son.  Of  course  his  listener  understood  that  he 
was  heir  to  the  large  fortune  which  the  old  gentleman  had 
accumulated.  His  splendid  dress  and  haughty  bearing  were 
becoming  to  him )  and  Alice  would  have  felt  a  friendly  joy 
that  he  was  at  last  in  circumstances  to  do  justice  to  his 
tastes,  had  not  the  old  suspicion  of  his  sincerity  returned  to 
her  with  every  sentence  which  he  uttered. 

The  very  pure  and  good  seem  often  to  be  possessed  of  a 


THE  senator's  son,  127 

sympathy  which  repels  them  from  falsehood,  however  spe- 
ciously disguised.  And  the  more  she  looked  at  that  dark 
face,  with  its  restless  lip  and  cautious,  searching  eyes,  the 
more  distrustful  she  felt  towards  it. 

He  remained  an  hour,  and  went  away  with  an  invitation 
from  Mrs.  Crawford  to  visit  them  again.  She  had  heard  so 
much  of  him  from  her  young  friends  that  she  knew  his  sta- 
tion and  claims  to  their  aociuaintance ;  and  as  she  admirec 
him  very  much,  she  at  once  concluded  that  it  would  b^- 
pleasant  to  have  him  for  a  visitor  through  the  winter  even- 
ings. She  was  sure  that  society  would  enliven  her  sweet 
child's  drooping  spirits.  Pretty  little  Mrs.  Crawford !  she 
had  scarcely  a  fault ;  but  she  had  one  !  She  aspir^  to  be  a 
match-maker.  Having  had  no  child:  en  to  occupy  her  leis- 
ure, she  had  taken  great  notice  t^  +he  young  people  belong- 
ing to  other  folks.  As  many  as  half-a-dozen  excellent  mar- 
riages she  was  sure  had  been  brought  about  through  her 
important  management.  Though  Ali  e  was  but  just  seven- 
teen, and  so  child-like,  and  so  saint-' ike  in  her  innocent 
^ays  and  looks,  that  she  should  have  been  regarded  onl}^  as 
a  white  rose-bud  growing  upon  consecrated  ground,  too  holj 
and  too  fragile  to  be  gathered  and  worn;  yet  her  new 
mother,  looking  smilingly  at  her,  as  she  sat  pensively  by 
the  table,  had  already  arranged  how  charmi'^.g  it  would  be 
to  fasten  the  bridal  veil  upon  that  beaclif^i  head. 

She  had  not  failed  to  observe  tho  earnest  looks  which 
Alfred  could  not  refrain  from  lixing  upon  the  young  girl 
c.iler  an  absence  of  more  than  a  year.     That  a  young  gen- 


128  THE  senator's  son. 

tleman  so  rich,  elegant,  refined,  and  of  good  family,  should 
at  once  fall  in  love  with  her  pretty  Alice,  was  delightful. 
Her  mind  ran  gaily  on  to  the  future,  and  she  cast  glances 
up  apd  down  her  parlors  to  imagine  how  they  would  appear, 
illuminated  for  a  wedding-party.  Yes !  they  should  stand 
there,  just  between  those  two  large  windows,  to  be  married  ! 
and  there  should  be  no  lack  of  camelias  for  adornment  I 
and  it  might  be  that  Mr.  Crawford  could  be  coaxed  into  the 
purchase  of  new  curtains  !  All  this  while  the  unconscious 
performer  of  the  chief  part  in  this  drama  of  the  future  s&t 
with  her  head  upon  her  hands,  thinking  of  how  she  should 
most  successfully  approach  her  guardian  on  the  sore  subject 
of  recalling  Parke.  She  replied  at  random  to  her  compan- 
ion's praises  of  their  visitor,  and  was  oblivious  to  all  the 
little  wiles  that  were  used  to  discover  the  state  of  her  feel- 
ings  towards  him. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Clyde  was  a  little  agitated  when  he  first 
came  in.  What  expressive  eyes  he  has !  at  least,  when  he 
is  looking  at  my  little  daughter !  ^^ 

Alice  blushed ;  but  it  was  with  emotion  at  hearing  Mr. 
Crawford  in  the  hall.  Her  heart  first  gave  a  bound,  and 
then  sank  down  —  down  1  for  his  sternness  was  terrible  to 
her,  who  had  been  reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  gentleness ; 
and  if  he  should  utterly  refuse  to  listen  to  her  plea !     Then 

ah !   she  was  resolved  what  she  would  do  then ;  and 

her  cheeks  became  so  crimson  at  the  thought,  that  her 
guardian,  entering,  patted  them  cheerfully,  and  said  that  he 
was  rejoiced  to  see  her  looking  so  much  better^ 


THE   senator's   SON.  129 

Tea  was  over.  Mr.  Crawford  was  established  for  the 
evening  in  the  cushions  of  his  huge  chair.  Alice  had  ar- 
ranged the  lamp,  brought  him  his  slippers,  paper,  and 
spectacles,  and  before  he  made  use  of  the  two  latter,  she 
had  perched  upon  his  knee.  She  laid  her  little  white  hands 
upon  his  shoulders.  He  looked  fondly  at  her,  thinking  this 
young  thing,  with  her  shining  curls  and  fairy  form,  the 
fairest  child  he  had  ever  seen ;  but  when  the  dew  began  to 
gather  on  her  eye-lids,  and  her  lips  to  tremble  with  what 
she  wanted  to  say,  he  pushed  her  farther  back  upon  his 
knee,  and  his  countenance  settled  down  into  unpromising 
severity. 

Alice  was  frightened,  but  love  made  her  bold. 

"  Father  I"  (it  was  not  hard  for  her  to  call  Mr.  Craw- 
ford father,  as  she  had  but  slight  remembrance  of  her  own) 
*'Ihave  had  a  letter  from  Parke  to-day,  and  I  want  you  to 
read  it." 

She  held  it  out,  but  he  would  not  take  it. 

^'  Does  not  Miss  Madison  remember  that  I  have  fo?-- 
bidden  any  intercession  for  that  person  ?" 

Miss  Madison !  when  had  he  ever  called  her  by  so  dig- 
nified a  title  before  ?  But  she  could  bear  his  cold  tones  as 
well  as  her  poor  brother ;  and  if  other  people  were  to  be 
harsh  and  unrelenting,  why  should  she  not  take  part  against 
them  ?  She  felt  some  of  the  real  old  family  blood,  which 
she  inherited  from  her  mother's  father,  thrilling  her  breast. 
A  firmness  of  will  which  distinguished  them,  and  which  it 
would  have  been  well  for  Parke  to  possess,  she  now  felt  for 


180  THE   senator's    SON. 

the  first  time  springing  into  energy,  called  to  life  by  the 
dreadful  anxiety  she  felt  for  one  dearer  to  her  than  her  own 
life. 

^'  You  had  better  read  the  letter/'  she  said,  getting  off 
of  the  extreme  edge  of  his  lap  to  "which  he  had  pushed  her, 
and  standing  before  him. 

"  "Why  so?"  he  inquired  a  little  curiously;  for,  despite 
of  his  gravity,  he  could  scarcely  forbear  a  surprised  smile  at 
her  commanding  attitude  and  the  firm  tones  of  her  voice. 

"  Because  you  oiiglit  to  read  it,  father.  Certainly  it  can 
do  you  no  harm  to  read  it;  and,  if  you  refuse,  you  may 
sometime  regret  it.  ^  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they 
shall  obtain  mercy.'  " 

"  And  you  think  I  may  sometime  need  it  —  is  that  it  ?  " 
he  asked,  smiling  at  what  might  seem  like  disrespect  from 
her. 

''  I  don't  think  anything  about  it !  I  only  wish  to  know 
whether  you  will  read  this  yourself;  for  if  you  will  not, 
then  I  shall  read  it  to  you." 

He  looked  a  little  angry  at  this,  and  made  no  reply,  ex- 
cept to  call  her  a  "  saucy  little  girl." 

So  after  waiting  a  moment  she  began.  It  would  have 
been  weak  for  him  to  have  got  up  and  ran  out  of  the  room, 
and  as  she  read  in  a  clear,  distinct  voice,  he  was  obliged  to 
hear  every  word.  His  brow  darkened  ominously  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  epistle ;  and  where  it  came  to  the  reckless 
confession  of  his  new  sins,  he  stamped  his  foot  as  if  he 
would  command  silence.     The  young  girl  continued  to  the 


THE  senator's  son.  131 

end,  witli  a  slight  falter  towards  the  last;  then  turning  her 
bright,  dark  eyes  upon  her  guardian,  she  seemed  to  be  asking 
him  with  that  steady  look,  if  it  would  not  have  been  better 
to  have  shown  more  mercy. 

The  look  of  a  righteous  judge  had  given  way  upon  his 
face  to  a  more  troubled  expression,  as  his  eye  fell  before 
hers,  and  he  repeated  to  himself  her  silent  question.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  him  before  that  his  casting  his  ward  back 
upon  his  own  inclinations  was  making  him  worse,  for  he 
had  flattered  himself  that  there  was  no  worse  to  such  con- 
duct. Now  he  did  not  like  the  responsibility  of  four  days 
of  intoxication,  two  suppers,  and  a  large  gambling  debt, 
thrust  thus  unceremoniously  upon  him. 

"  Are  you  going  to  send  for  my  brother  to  come  back 
home  ?  "  asked  Alice,  watching  the  changes  of  his  brow. 

Mr.  Crawford  was  nervous  at  the  thought  of  his  having 
been  too  hasty  with  the  son  of  his  dead  friends ;  and  when 
he  was  nervous  he  was  always  irritable.  If  he  answered 
yes,  after  hearing  the  letter,  it  would  be  a  tacit  acknowl- 
edgment that  he  had  done  wrong ;  so  he  threw  himself  upon 
his  temper,  and  thundered  —  ''No  !'' 

''  Very  well !  then,^'  said  Alice,  folding  up  the  letter, 
"  I  consider  it  my  duty  to  go  to  him.'' 

Both  her  friends  regarded  her  with  amazement,  as  she 
gtood  before  them,  her  slight  figure  erect,  her  lips  pressed 
together,  her  cheeks  burning,  and  only  the  tears  softening 
her  eyes  to  show  that  she  was  their  timid  young  ward. 

"Go  to  him!"  cried  her  guardian,  '^  where  ?  —  to 
Hotel  ?  " 


182  THE  senator's  son. 

"  YeSj  Sir !  if  you  drive  me  to  that.  You  may  think 
it  your  duty  to  be  very  severe  with  poor  Parke,  —  I  hioio 
it  is  mine  to  be  faithful  to  him  to  the  hist :  oh,  Sir/'  here 
her  voice  trembled,  '^yon  heard  my  mother's  last  words, 
that  we  should  '  love  one  another '  — -  ^  be  faithful '  —  and 
now  that  he  is  left  to  the  mercy  of  his  own  strong  in- 
clinations, and  beset  by  temptation  on  every  side,  is  11020 
the  time  for  him  to  be  without  his  friends  —  his  sister ! 
"What  would  friends  be  worth  if  they  deserted  us  in  our 
fall  ?  Oh,  my  mother,'^  she  continued  with  upraised  eyes, 
^'t/ou  would  not  thus  easily  have  cast  off  your  child." 

The  tears  were  now  running  down  her  cheeks,  but  she 
walked  with  a  proud  step  towards  the  hall. 

^'  Mr.  Crawford,'^  she  said,  turning  at  the  door,*'can  I 
have  John  to  protect  me  through  the  street,  or  must  I  go 
alone?" 

^'  Are  you  going  to-night,  Alice,"  asked  Mrs.  Crawford, 
in  terror. 

"  Yes,  madam !  I  must,  —  I  must  be  where  my  poor 
brother  is,  to  watch  over  him,  and,  if  possible,  save  him. 
Who  can  tell  what  a  night  may  bring  forth  of  danger  to 
him." 

"  You  will  do  no  such  wild,  foolish  thing,"  said  her 
guardian,  rising.  "  Have  you  fogotten,  Alice,  that  I  have 
the  control  of  your  actions  ?" 

"  It  is  the  last  command  of  my  mother  whicli  controls 
me  now,"  she  answered  repsectfully.  "  It  is  stronger  than 
the  law  —  stronger  than  any  love  for  you,"  and  she  passed 
out  into  the  hall. 


THE  senator's  son,  133 

Mr.  Crawford  followed  her.  She  was  already  tying  on 
her  hood,  when  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

^^  You  are  a  stubborn  girl,  Alice ;  but  if  you  will  have  it 
your  own  way,  you  must  take  the  consequences.  Take  off 
that  rigging  and  come  back  to  the  fire." 

"  You  will  send  for  Parke,  then  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Of  course,  if  I  must  to  keep  you  out  of  such  mad 
mischief.'^ 

"  But  to-night  ?  to-night  ?  shall  John  go  right  away." 
"As  well  now  as  any  time,"  he  replied;   and  she  flew  to 
write  a  note  for  the  messenger. 

In  a  moment  it  was  ready,  and  John  was  dispatched. 

'^  Its  a  mighty  blustering  night  to  be  running  about  in, 
but  I  would  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  city  to  serve  you,  and  to 
search  out  Mr.  Parke,"  he  said,  as  he  went  out  the  door, 
hurried  by  Alice.  This  was  their  own  old  household  ser- 
vant, and  who  had  been  almost  half  as  anxious  as  his  young 
mistress  since  Parke  was  sent  away. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Crawford,  my  father,  you  are  so  good  —  so 
good,"  said  Alice,  coming  back  to  her  old  place  on  his  knee. 
<^  And  now  I  know  you  will  receive  poor  Parke  kindly  — 
he  will  be  so  distressed  and  ashamed  —  " 

^'  Deserves  to  be,"  was  the  gruff  response. 

"  I  know  it  —  he  ought  to  be  —  oh  dear,  I  don't  know 
what  punishment  he  doesn't  deserve  except  to  be  turned 
away  from  Jiome  —  his  only  place  of  refuge,  you  see !  — 
But  still,  you  will  speak  to  him  —  try  to  forgive  him,  dear, 
dear  father." 
12 


134  THE  senator's  son. 

"  Don't  tease  me  any  more  to-night,  or  I  shall  be  sorry 
I  didn't  let  you  go  where  you  wanted  to/'  he  said;  but  it 
was  with  a  smile,  and  something  like  a  sparkle  of  water  in 
his  eyes. 

So  the  young  girl  was  content,  and  kissing  him,  she 
went  to  the  window  to  listen.  The  roar  of  the  storm  with- 
out prevented  her  hearing  much ;  but  after  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  passed  in  suspense,  the  stamping  of  feet  was 
heard  in  the  hall.  Alice  glanced  towards  her  friends,  and 
then  flew  out  to  see  if  any  one  had  returned  with  John. 
There  was  Parke  taking  off  his  cloak,  and  lingering  as  if 
loth  to  enter. 

The  same  instant  she  lay  sobbing  in  his  arms.  His 
tears  fell  hot  and  large  upon  her  face. 

"  I  should  not  have  come  had  not  i/ou  written  the  note," 
he  whispered. 

"  Oh,  hush,  Parke,  do  not  say  anything  of  the  kind. 
We  will  love  you  as  well  as  you  deserve." 

Radiant  with  tears  and  smiles  she  led  the  way  in.  Her 
tact  and  her  emotion  covered  half  the  embarrassment  of 
the  meeting.  If  Parke  and  his  guardian  did  not  shake 
hands  very  cordially,  she  embraced  both  with  such  affection 
that  they  might  have  mistaken  her  joy  for  each  others. 
Mrs.  Crawford  kissed  his  cheek  and  appeared  really  glad ; 
and  then  when  all  set  down,  and  an  awkward  silence  threat- 
ened the  gi'oup,  Alice  opened  the  piano  and  played  such  de- 
lightful melodies,  and  sung  with  such  touching  sweetness, 


THE   senator's   SON.  135 

tKat  all  hearts  were  united,  at  least  in  love  and  admiration 
of  the  singer. 

When  she  came  back,  they  talked  about  the  storm,  won- 
dered if  there  were  any  vessels  endangered  along  the  coast, 
spoke  of  a  new  play  which  they  all  wished  to  attend  the 
next  evening,  and  so  gradually  recovered  their  ease  of 
feeling. 

When  the  others  had  retired  to  their  room,  Alice  rested 
her  head  upon  her  brother's  bosom,  and  they  sat  silent  for  a 
long  time ;  at  length  he  spoke. 

"  I  did  not  think  a  short  time  ago  that  I  should  ever 
be  as  happy  again  as  I  am  at  this  moment.'^ 

"  There  is  a  life-time  of  such  happiness  for  you,  if  you 
will  only  take  it,"  she  replied.  "  But  there  is  no  true  enjoy- 
ment except  in  doing  right,  our  mother  always  taught  us." 

"  And  I  feel  it  as  you  cannot  feel  it,  who  know  not  the 
misery  of  shame  and  remorse.  Oh,  Alice,  when  I  wake  in 
the  morning,  sick  in  body  and  soul,  disgusted  with  the  fe- 
verish excitement  of  the  preceding  night,  — when  memories 
of  rude  revels,  wild  intoxication,  of  gas-light  glaring  upon 
a  chaos  of  wine  and  broken  goblets,  cigar-smoke,  and  bill- 
iard-tables, of  profane  jests  and  reckless  merriment,  stand 
out  deformed  in  the  pure  beams  of  the  morning  sun,  —  I 
loathe  myself  and  wish  I  had  never  been  born.  The  thought 
of  the  hours  we  spent  together  at  the  farm  steal  upon  me  like 
glimpses  of  a  lost  heaven.  Alice,  I  wish  I  was  like  you. 
You  are  too  good  for  earth.  But  i/ou  are  exposed  to  no 
temptation  —  allurements  do  not  rise  up  before  you  every 


136  THE  senator's  son. 

step  that  you  take  out  of  doors.  The  saloon  and  the  gam- 
ing-table do  not  expect  you  nor  invite  you.'' 

"  If  they  did  it  would  not  lessen  my  abhorrence  for 
them.  The  scriptures  say,  that  we  are  tempted  with  no 
temptation  greater  than  we  are  able  to  bear." 

"  They  say,  too,  what  is  truth  of  me ;  I  find  there  a  law 
that  when  I  would  do  good,  evil  is  present  with  me.  For  I 
delight  in  the  law  of  God  after  the  inward  man.  But  I 
see  another  law  in  my  members  warring  against  the  law  of 
my  mind,  and  bringing  me  into  captivity  to  the  law  of  sin 
which  is  in  my  members.  ^  0,  wretched  man  that  I  am  ! 
who  shall  deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this  death  ? '  '* 

"  Jesus  Christ  will  become  your  deliverer,  even  from 
such  "straits  as  these.  Dear  brother,  to-morrow,  let 
us  go  to  our  mother's  gi'ave.  It  is  long  since  we  have 
been  there ;  and  even  the  snow  that  now  covers  it  is  pre- 
cious to  me." 

''  It  is  not  long  since  I  was  there,"  said  Parke,  in  a  sad 
voice.  "  Last  night,  I  lay  upon  that  grave  more  than  half 
the  night,  groaning  in  bitterness  of  spirit." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "Why  !  my  poor,  poor  brother,  turned 
from  your  home,  did  you  take  refuge  in  that  solemn  spot 
from  your  unhappiness." 

She  shuddered  and  wept ;  then  both  knelt  and  prayed. 
Their  sleep  that  night  was  sweet ;  and  the  next  day  a  kind 
of  chastened  happiness  sat  upon  each  face.  The  day  was 
calm  and  bright,  and  they  rode  out  in  the  carriage  to  the 
cemetery.     In  the  evening  Alfred  Clyde  called  early,  and 


THE    senator's    SON.  137 

went  with  the  rest  of  the  family  to  the  theatre  to  see  the 
"  Lady  of  Lyons/' 

At  every  impassioned  word  from  Claude  Melnotte,  Clyde 
would  turn  his  dark  eyes  to  the  face  of  Alice.  And  when 
he  described  the  palace-home,  with  its  beautiful  environs, 
to  the  delighted  Pauline,  Alfred  turned  and  whispered  in 
the  ear  of  Alice  — 

"  Such  a  home  shall  be  yours  if  you  will  be  true  to  the 
promise  which  the  little  girl  made  to  the  school-boy. '^ 

The  maiden  shrank  back,  with  a  slight  blush,  saying 
gravely  —  "  It  was  not  I  that  promised,  Mr.  Clyde.'' 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  affected  to  have  spoken 
only  for  the  purpose  of  reminding  her  of  their  old  frolics. 

After  this  he  became  an  almost  daily  visitor  at  the 
Crawfords.  He  was  quite  devoted  enough  to  Alice  to  jus- 
tify the  little  lady  of  the  house  in  dreaming  of  a  wedding 
at  some  future  day;  but  the  heroine  herself  preserved  a 
most  perplexing  indifference,  and  seemed  more  annoyed 
than  flattered  by  those  distant  allusions  to  the  subject  which 
the  match-maker  ventured  to  indulge  in.  The  house  was 
divided  in  its  opinions  of  Alfred  Clyde.  Parke  still  cher- 
ished an  enthusiastic  friendship  for  him ;  and  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford admired  him  more  than  any  young  gentleman  who 
called  at  the  house.  Her  husband,  on  the  contrary,  had 
taken  a  decided  aversion  to  him  —  not  for  any  reason  that 
he  could  make  satisfactory  to  others  —  but  the  first  evening 
which  Alfred  spent  at  the  house  he  had  taken  a  dislike  to 
something  haughty  and  repelling  in  his  manner.  He  had 
12* 


188  THE  senator's  son, 

rcet  liim  frequently  in  Parke's  company  in  former  years, 
but  not  to  form  any  acquaintance  with  him.  His  preju- 
dices did  not  prevent  him  from  treating  their  visitor  with 
politeness,  or  lead  to  his  objecting  to  Parke's  intimacy  with 
him.  Alice,  although  she  said  nothing  about  it,  and  alwaj^s 
received  him  with  friendliness,  still  cherished  a  distrust  of 
him.  She  never  heard  of  anything  against  his  character  or 
habits;  he  had  the  respect  of  a  highly  honorable  circle, 
and  was  generally  admired  for  the  eas&  of  his  address,  the 
tasteful  splendor  of  his  attire,  and  his  good  judgment  upon 
men  and  things.  But  she  could  not  feel  attracted  towards 
him  by  that  powerful  sympathy  that  draws  together  kindred 
natures.  It  w\as  in  vain  that  she  tried  to  conceal  from  her- 
self that  he  loved  her.  The  hints  of  her  adopted  mother, 
the  raillery  of  Parke,  and  the  manner  of  Alfred,  all  made 
it  impossible  for  her  to  shut  her  eyes  upon  the  unwelcome 
fact.  She  appeared  to  do  so,  and  always  received  any  warm 
avowal  from  him  as  if  it  meant  no  more  than  the  old  play 
of  brother  and  sister.  She  sang  and  played  for  him  when 
he  asked,  was  social  and  kind ;  but  she  could  take  but  little 
pleasure  in  his  society,  because  she  wished  to  give  him  no 
encouragement. 

"  It  is  absurd  for  him  to  think  of  a  child  like  me,"  she 
thought.  "  He  will  soon  forget  it  when  he  meets  ladies 
older  and  more  beautiful,  and  who  take  more  care  to  please 
him." 

He  met  such  ladies  every  day,  saving  the  beauty,  for 
few  could  be  more  fair  than  Alice,  although  there  was  no 


THE    senator's    SON.  139 

fjtateliness  or  magnificence  in  her  looks.  Slight  and  ele- 
gant, pure  and  etherial,  graceful  as  a  spirit  of  air,  she 
aecded  to  make  no  eifort  in  order  to  please.  Albert  met 
agreeable  ladies ;  but  his  dreams  were  all  of  that  youthful 
figure  attired  in  sorrowful  black  —  that  sweet,  bright  smile, 
and  those  beaming  hazel  eyes,  and  the  voice  both  sweet  and 
low.  Ardently  as  he  had  loved  her  for  years,  he  dreamed 
not  of  the  volcano  of  passion  in  his  breast  until  he  saw  her 
the  object  of  admiration  to  another. 

St.  Ormond,  the  brilliant,  extravagant,  and  heartless 
man  of  pleasure,  who  induced  young  Madison  to  break  his 
vow  made  to  a  dying  mother,  and  gloried  in  the  triumph, 
called  one  evening  to  see  Parke,  upon  some  aifair  of  little 
importance.  The  object  of  his  visit  was  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  beautiful  sister  of  whom  he  had  heard.  Parke  had 
himself  boasted  of  her  angelic  qualities  once  over  his  wine, 
when  the  subject  of  beauty  was  introduced.  St.  Ormond, 
for  a  man  who  lived  as  fiist,  preserved  a  very  good  appear- 
ance before  the  world,  being  obliged  to  use  great  caution  to 
keep  the  good  opinion  of  a  maiden-aunt,  from  whom  he  ex- 
pected a  fortune. 

Presuming  that  his  true  character  was  not  known  in  the 
family,  he  ventured  to  call  on  that  evening  to  tell  the  young 
gentleman  something  about  a  picture  or  an  opera.  Parke 
was  anything  but  pleased  to  see  him  there,  saying  suave 
things  to  Mrs.  Crawford,  and  fixing  burning  glances  upon 
his  sister.  Alfred  was  also  present,  and  his  quick  jealousy 
detected  the  intense  admiration  which  the  young  girl  ex- 


140  THE  senator's  son. 

cited.  When  she  looked  up  with  her  innocent,  brijrht 
smile,  and  appeared  pleased  and  interested  in  something 
the  stranger  was  saying  about  music,  he  was  ready  to  bite 
his  lip  through  with  chagrin.  St.  Ormond,  too,  as  Parke 
had  previously  done,  remarked  the  likeness  of  Alice's 
mouth  to  his  Hebe's.  He  remembered  vowing  to  kiss  the 
first  woman  whom  he  should  meet  with  such  a  mouth ;  but 
now  he  felt  the  vanity  and  emptiness  of  the  boastful  as- 
sertion. He  could  no  more  have  approached  that  bright 
young  girl  with  such  a  thought,  than  as  though  the  air  that 
seemed  to  encircle  her  with  a  different  atmosphere  was 
alive  with  living  lightnings.  He  soon  arose  to  go,  and  bade 
her  good  evening  with  profound  respect.  His  fellows  would 
have  had  food  for  ridicule  if  they  had  guessed  his  thoughts 
for  the  rest  of  that  night.  Visions  of  becoming  a  reformed 
and  useful  member  of  society  —  of  abandoning  brandy,  ci- 
gars, and  billiards,  for  tea,  books,  and  a  game  of  chess  at 
home  —  of  a  quiet  and  elegant  home,  with  a  wife  —  a  wife, 
lovely,  young,  pure  as  the  morning,  flitted  through  his 
brain.  For  twenty-four  hours  he  was  thoroughly  disgusted 
with  his  manner  of  living,  and  serious  resolutions  of  be- 
coming a  better  man  agitated  his  reflections,  as  he  denied 
himself  to  callers,  and  sat  musing  in  his  arm-chair,  lost  in 
his  dreams  and  his  dressing-gown. 

For  several  days  he  went  about  with  a  dejected  air. 
The  sight  of  so  much  innocence  and  goodness  had  reminded 
him  of  the  immense  gulf  lying  between  him  and  it.     Con- 


THE   senator's    SON.  ^4:1 

science  was  awake,  which  for  so  long  a  period  had  lain  dor- 
mant through  the  winter  of  guilt,  and  now  stung  the  bosom 
where  it  lay.  Ghosts  of  old  sins  —  a  long  array  of  broken 
hearts,  broken  oaths,  broken  promises  to  pay,  and  broken 
goblets  gathered  around  him  and  tormented  him  with  their 
unwelcome  company.  ''■ 

Unable  longer  to  resist  the  desire  to  gaze  upon  that 
spiritual  face  again,  and  see  if  the  charmer  who  had  con- 
jured up  this  burden  of  feeling  could  not  remove  the  load, 
he  made  another  call  at  Mr.  Crawford's.  But  Parke,  indig- 
nant at  his  former  visit,  and  suspecting  its  object,  had  in- 
formed Alice  that  St.  Ormond  was  the  person  who  had 
taken  so  much  trouble  to  get  him  intoxicated,  the  particu- 
lars of  the  bet  having  afterwards  become  known  to  him. 
If  she  could  have  cherished  a  sentiment  of  hate  it  would 
have  been  bestowed  upon  the  cruel  and  heartless  destroyer 
of  their  happiness.  Parke  was  still  occasionally  drawn 
away  into  dissipation,  and  when  she  thought  of  this,  and 
what  imminent  peril  their  safety  was  in,  her  heart  strug- 
gled with  bitter  feelings.  It  was  some  small  return  for 
the  anguish  he  had  caused,  when  St.  Ormond  retired  in 
haste  and  confusion  from  his  second  call.  Alice  had  not 
deigned  him  a  word  or  look  —  the  ineffable  scorn  she  felt 
for  him  curled  her  lip  and  flashed  in  her  averted  eye.  Mrs. 
Crawford  had  merely  bowed,  and  Parke  was  the  only  one 
who  had  addressed  him.  He  found  it  convenient  to  speed- 
ily withdraw ;  and  as  he  went  down  the  steps,  with  burning 


142  THE    SENATOR^ S    SON. 

cheeks  and  contracted  brow,  the  late  desire  for  amendment 
was  thrust  from  his  breast.  No  such  vision  of  purity  ever 
again  returned. 

His  fleeting  passion,  however,  had  alarmed  Alfred  Clyde 
with  the  fear  that  some  more  acceptable  devotion  might  be 
offered  at  the  feet  of  Alice  before  he  himself  had  besought 
her  favor.  He  resolved  to  seek  the  first  opportunity  of  de- 
claring his  preference.  He  had  but  faint  hopes  of  her  re- 
turning his  love  —  he  had  never  been  given  cause  to  think 
that  she  loved  him.  But  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of 
living  without  her.  He  had  settled  it  with  himself  that  no 
other  woman  would  ever  be  so  pleasing  to  him  as  Alice 
Madison,  and  he  was  determined  to  win  her.  At  present 
he  thought  only  of  persuasion  and  perseverance.  He  looked 
upon  her  as  his  future  wife  with  as  much  complacency  as 
though  she  had  already  promised  him  as  much. 

One  day  they  were  out  riding  together.  It  was  a  clear, 
cold  afternoon  in  January.  The  earth  was  covered  with 
frozen  snow,  beat  down  into  a  smooth  track  along  the  road. 
The  fences  had  a  comfortable,  muffled  look,  and  the  trees 
glittered  with  icy  pendants.  The  air  was  still  and  keen  — 
it  was  just  such  weather  as  Alice  delighted  in  —  she  en- 
joyed her  ride  very  much;  Alfred  had  not  seen  her  in  such 
good  spirits  since  their  acquaintance  was  renewed. 

As  they  sped  rapidly  along  towards  the  city,  he  resolved 
to  take  advantage  of  her  happy  frame  of  mind  to  induce  a 
favorable  reception  of  what  he  wished  to  say. 

'^  The  day  is  so  beautiful  —  the  earth  looks  so  fair,  the 


THE  senator's  son.  143 

very  sense  of  living  is  ySO  pleasant^  and  you,  clear  Alice,  seem 
so  glad  and  bright,  that  I  am  full  of  happiness^ —  so  happy, 
that  I  can  no  longer  repress  the  hopes  that  are  rising  in  my 
heart,  I  wish  to  be  always  as  happy  as  I  am  now,  and  I 
shall  be  if  you  will  only  say  that  you  will  always  be  my  com- 
panion. Dear  Alice,  promise  it  now  !  think  how  long  a  time 
I  have  waited  for  you  —  ever  since  you  were  a  little  girl." 
His  tones  were  musical  and  tender ;  she  cast  a  brief 
look  into  his  face  to  read  —  it  was  involuntary  —  whether 
the  usual  concealed  something  was  there.  It  was  glowing 
with  feeling  —  the  dark  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  with  an 
intensity  that  made  her  tremble. 

She  was  embarrassed,  of  course,  and  her  timid  heart 
fluttered  as  if  caught  in  silken  meshes ;  but  they  were  whirl- 
ing swiftly  along,  and  she  turned  her  attention  to  the  flit- 
ting trees  and  fences,  while  she  replied  — 

"  I  cannot  promise  you,  Alfred.  I  am  too  young  to 
make  any  such  promises,  and  if  I  were  not,  I  do  not  think 

—  that  I " 

"  Could  give  yourself  to  me  ?  Do  not  say  that,  Alice, 
after  I  have  passed  years  in  dreaming  of  our  future  —  after 
all  my  hopes  and  wishes  have  become  unchangeably  fixed 
up  jn  you.  You  know  all  about  me  —  my  character,  my  tastes, 
find  disposition.  If  these  are  not  displeasing  to  you,  why 
can  you  not  say  now  whether  you  will  be  my  wife  or  not  ?  '^ 
^'  I  can  say  now.  I  cannot  be  your  wife,  because  I  am 
sure  that  I  do  not  love  you.  Besides,  I  do  not  think  that 
I   '  kuv)w  all  about  you.'     I  have  always  felt  as  if  we  were 


144  THE  senator's  son. 

not  perfectly  acquainted  —  as  if  each  had  traits  of  charac- 
ter which  the  other  did  not  understand  —  and  with  such 
feelings,  we  could  not  be  very  happy." 

^'  I  think  that  I  appreciate  all  the  traits  of  your  charac- 
ter. Your  loveliness  and  goodness  have  made  too  deep  an 
impression  not  to  have  been  understood.  That  you  can, 
if  you  will,  love  truly  and  well,  I  know  by  your  temper- 
ament, and  by  your  noble  devotion  to  Parke.  Only  love 
me  half  as  much  as  you  do  him,  and  for  the  present  I  will 
be  content." 

'^  I  shall  never  love  you,  I  am  certain,"  replied  the 
young  girl  with  a  sigh,  but  still  earnestly. 

She  felt  that  she  should  not,  and  she  did  not  wish  to 
deceive  him  by  kindness  now  at  the  expense  of  future  dis- 
appointment. 

'^  But  I  shall  wish  to  have  you  for  my  friend  and 
Parke's,"  she  continued  gently. 

^'  Friend  !  you  know  that  I  cannot  be  anything  so  luke- 
warm —  I  must  be  more  or  less !  oh,  Alice,  the  sunshine 
has  gone  out  of  the  sky,  the  fairness  has  fled  from  the 
earth  ! " 

They  were  now  in  the  city  and  nearly  home.  After  a 
pause  he  said  again,  in  less  disconsolate  tones  — 

^^  Do  not  think  that  I  have  given  you  up,  Alice.  I 
cannot  relinquish  the  hope  of  five  years  so  easily.  I  shall 
wait  and  wait,  and  love  and  aspire,  until  you  are  married 
or  dead,  or  gone  to  the  Hebrides  —  or  until  you  consent  to 
'.'6  my  wife," 


THE    senator's    SON.  145 

They  were  at  the  door.  lie  pressed  her  little  hand 
tightly  as  he  lifted  her  from  the  carriage  j  and  she  went  in, 
wondering  why  love  was  not  mutual  always,  and  thinking 
what  a  pity  and  sorrow  it  was  for  affection  to  be  un- 
requited. Still  she  could  not  school  her  heart  to  love 
where  it  was  not  inclined.  Love  has  dreams  and  ideals  of 
his  own  which  he  will  pursue,  nor  turn  aside  to  worship  at 
other  shrines,  though  the  gods  upon  the  altars  beckon  with 
imploring  hands. 

True  to  his  purpose,  x\lfred  made  no  difference  in  his 
habit  of  seeking  the  society  of  Alice.  He  came  and  went 
every  day,  and  it  was  generally  believed  among  their  ac- 
quaintance, that  when  she  laid  aside  her  mourning  they 
would  be  married.  Mrs.  Crawford  finally  asked  her  about 
it,  and  said  she  hoped  it  was  so.  Alice  said  she  hoped  not, 
-and  that  it  never  would  be ;  but  kept  to  herself  that  she 
had  refused  the  young  gentleman.  Parke  knew  it,  how- 
ever, for  Alfred  told  him ;  and  he  was  very  much  grieved 
and  surprised,  and  ventured  to  remonstrate  a  little  with  his 
sister.  The  strong  influence  which  the  subtler  mind  of 
Clyde  first  gained  over  his  companion  seemed  to  increase 
instead  of  decline. 

Parke  thought  that  to  have  Alice  married  to  Alfred, 
and  keeping  house,  and  he,  living  with  them,  in  a  nice, 
quiet  kind  of  a  way,  was  a  "  consummation  most  devoutly 
to  be  wished.'^  And  ivh?/  she  was  not  willing  to  make  the 
rest  happy  in  so  easy  a  way,  was  what  he  could  not  under- 
stand ! 


CHAPTER    VII. 

The  sunshine  of  a  spring  morning  gilded  the  little  pai 
lor  of  Mrs.  "Van  Duyn.  The  light  curtains  were  drawn 
back,  letting  in  a  full  sweep  of  fragrance  through  the  win- 
dows, where  the  May  roses  were  peeping  curiously  in.  The 
sunshine  and  fragrance  seemed  to  hover  most  around  the 
form  of  a  fair  girl  who  was  giving  a  child  of  twelve  a 
lesson  in  German.  A  guitar  in  the  corner  was  almost  the 
only  article  of  luxury  in  the  room.  A  neat  chintz-covered 
lounge,  a  little  sewing-chair;  a  round  table,  on  which  was 
a  boquet  of  flowers,  a  few  books,  a  beautiful  porcelain 
basket,  and  a  piece  of  muslin  embroidery  which  was  in 
progress ;  an  ottoman  or  two,  likewise  covered  with  chintz, 
constituted  the  principle  furniture.  On  the  mantel  were 
some  old-fashioned  and  expensive  ornaments,  which  seemed 
to  have  been  brought  from  the  Father-land ;  and  a  painting 
in  oil,  of  a  lovely  German  scene,  hung  upon  the  wall. 

Mrs.  Van  Duyn  was  a  widow  of  middle  age,  and  hud 
three  or  four  children.      Ilcr  father  had  come  to  America 


THE  senator's  son.  147 

when  she  was  a  baby.  He  had  been  a  man  of  wealth  and 
education  among  the  middle-classes  of  Germany ',  and  when 
he  settled  near  New  York  he  had  a  competence.  But  he 
had,  too,  a  large  family.  The  boys  were  sent  to  school  and 
received  thorough  educations ;  the  girls  were  also  well  in- 
structed and  accomplished  in  embroidery,  singing,  music, 
French,  and  German.  This  daughter  man*ied  a  prosperous 
young  emigrant  from  her  own  country,  and  received  as  a 
marriage  portion  only  the  pictures  and  ornaments  mentioned 
above,  and  a  tolerable  set-out  of  clothes  and  furniture.  She 
was  a  happy,  blooming,  intelligent  woman,  lady-like  and 
accomplished ;  and  besides  being  a  fair  wife,  she  was  the 
beloved  mother  of  several  children — when  her  happiness 
was  suddenly  cut  short  by  the  death  of  her  husband.  One 
of  the  children,  a  sweet  little  girl,  died  soon  after ;  and  for 
a  long  time  the  widow  strove  with  a  great  sorrow.  But  the 
voices  of  her  little  flock  called  her  back  to  do  her  duty  to 
them.  With  noble  resignation  she  put  aside  the  outward 
expressions  of  mourning,  and  turned  to  the  task  of  bringing 
up  a  family  of  children  alone,  and  in  comparative  poverty. 
For  the  strong  hand  that  had  brought  plenty  and  comfort 
was  mouldering  in  dust;  and  although  there  was  their 
pretty  cottage-home  and  little  lot  of  ground  a  few  miles 
from  the  city,  and  money  in  the  bank,  yet  the  income  from 
all  was  insufficient.  The  cottage  made  a  charming  home ; 
the  brothers  one  or  two  of  them  came  forward  with  cheer- 
fully-offered assistance;  so  that  poverty  never  did  really 
pass  Mrs.  Van  Duyn's  threshold.     It  had  stood  there  some 


148  THE  senator's  son. 

hard  winters  and  peeped  in,  but  some  kind  relative  would 
step  up  and  drive  it  away.  The  eldest  of  her  children  was 
a  girl,  Lucy,  the  one  now  grown  into  a  maiden  of  eighteen, 
who  sat  by  the  window  giving  a  lesson  to  her  younger  sister. 
She  was  a  lovely  and  spirited-looking  girl.  Her  face  would 
not  have  been  so  charming,  but  for  its  expression  of  intel- 
lect and  refinement.  She  had  the  brown  eye  peculiar  to  a 
class  of  Germans  —  large,  soft,  and  expressive;  a  noble 
forehead,  a  profusion  of  dark  hair,  neatly  arranged,  and  a 
mouth  that  would  have  been  too  large  for  beauty,  were  it 
not  so  perfectly  lovable,  frank,  and  sweet,  and  adorned  with 
such  an  enviable  set  of  teeth.  The  smooth  German  accents 
fell  from  her  lips  with  delicious  richness,  and  the  sympa- 
thizing smile  with  which  she  encouraged  her  scholar  to  at- 
tempt them  was  doubtless  a  greater  aid  than  some  teachers 
may  imagine. 

Katy,  the  youngest,  was  peeping  in  to  see  if  sister  Lucy 
could  not  come  and  do  up  her  sun-bonnet,  for  she  wanted 
to  run  down  to  the  meadow  below  the  garden  and  look  at 
the  tiny  fishes  in  the  water,  and  mother  would  not  let  her 
go  out  in  the  sun  without  her  bonnet.  It  may  be  that  the 
whole  family  were  a  little  too  careful  of  the  fair  complexion 
of  little  Katy,  so  becoming  to  her  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair. 
Lucy  promised  to  attend  to  the  matter  within  five  minutes ; 
and  was  proceeding  with  her  lesson,  when  the  quick  clatter 
of  hoofs  down  the  road  caused  her  to  look  out  the  rose- 
laden  window.  She  had  only  time  to  note  a  fiery  steed  and 
a  youthful  rider  looking  bravely  in  the  spring  sunshine; 


THE    senator's    &0N.  149 

when  tlie  spirited  animal,  frightened  at  the  sudden  appa- 
rition of  little  Willy  Van  Duyn  swinging  on  the  gate,  with 
a  flaming  soldier-cap  on  his  head,  and  a  piece  of  Katy's  red 
dress  for  a  banner,  sprang  with  a  bound  so  unexpected,  that 
the  careless  rider,  wondering  who  was  concealed  by  the  rose- 
curtains  of  that  pretty  cottage,  came  with  terrible  force  to 
the  ground.  The  horse  galloped  madly  away;  and  little 
Willy,  throwing  down  his  mischievous  flag,  rushed  into  the 
house. 

^'  The  man  is  killed,  I'm  certain,  sister  Lucy,  for  he  lies 
so  still ! " 

She  had  raised  from  her  chair  with  a  cry  when  she  saw 
him  fall ;  now  trembling  with  alarm,  she  called  her  mother, 
and  they  ran  out  to  see  what  was  to  be  done.  Surely,  the 
unfortunate  rider  did  appear  to  be  killed.  His  head  had 
struck  a  large  stone  by  the  side  of  the  road,  and  he  lay 
dead  or  insensible  were  he  fell. 

Lucy  burst  into  tears,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do. 
Her  mother,  more  composed,  but  pale,  tried  to  decide  upon 
something  that  might  avail  him. 

"He  maybe  only  senseless,"  she  said;  "but  he  will 
die,  lying  there.  You  and  I  can  never  get  him  into  the 
house  in  the  world ;  and  there  is'nt  a  man,  that  I  know  of, 
within  a  mile.  Willy !  Willy !  run  to  the  nearest  house 
and  ask  them  to  come ;  or  if  you  meet  any  one  on  the  way, 
send  them." 

Willy  ran  ofi",  and  the  mother  continued  — 

"  It  is  dreadful  to  see  his  head  lying  there  bleeding  in 


150  THE    SENATOH'S    SON. 

the  dust.  Sit  down  upon  the  stone,  Lucy,  and  lift  it  upon 
your  lap,  while  I  get  a  bandage  and  the  camphor."  Lucy 
sat  down  with  a  slight  shudder,  and  raised  the  poor  head 
tenderly.  The  pale  and  youthful  features  were  stained  with 
blood,  and  the  rich  masses  of  light-brown  hair  were  clogged 
with  the  same. 

^'  So  young  —  so  gay  —  so  unprepared  !  Oh,  I  wonder 
who  he  is,  and  where  his  friends  are.  I  wonder  if  there 
will  never  be  any  help  —  he  will  die." 

Little  help  there  was  for  some  time,  except  that  INIrs. 
Van  Duyn  bathed  his  face  with  camphor  and  washed  the 
blood  from  his  wounds.  After  a  while,  two  gentlemen  came 
along  in  a  buggy,  and  stopping,  carried  him  in  and  laid  him 
upon  the  bed  in  a  little  room  off  the  parlor.  They  were 
going  on  into  the  city,  and  after  doing  what  they  could, 
promised  to  send  a  physician  immediately.  As  they  were 
strangers,  the  lady  gave  them  the  name  of  an  eminent  Doc- 
tor, and  they  drove  rapidly  away.  In  about  an  hour,  dur- 
ing which  time  the  young  man  had  uttered  two  or  three 
feeble  moans,  the  physician  arrived. 

^'  Is  it  possible  ! "  he  muttered ;  ^^  why  this  is  young 
Madison!  I  know  him  well  —  distinguished  family  —  a 
little  wild,  but  very  superior  young  person,  very  —  pity  if 
he  should  die  —  break  his  sister's  heart  —  do'nt  ^hink  he 
will  though.  No  —  no,"  as  he  proceeded  with  his  cxamina- 
nation  —  "  no  danger  of  that  —  a  fracture,  but  slight  — 
slight." 

Here  the  young  gentleman  began  to  recover  a  conscious- 


THE    senator's    SON.  151 

ness  of  his  calamity,  and  to  groan  so  as  to  drive  the  color 
from  Lucy's  face.  But  she  was  obliged  to  assist  the  Doc- 
tor, and  did  it  so  firmly  and  well  that  he  praised  her  for- 
titude. 

"  Young  lady  of  some  nerve  —  good  —  most  ladies  have 
too  many  nerves  but  no  control.  How's  this  ?  arm  broken 
—  upon  my  word  —  hu77ierus  —  that's  what  he's  groaning 
ibout.     We  must  attend  to  this,  Madam,  really." 

It  was  a  happy  thing  for  Parke  Madison,  since  he  fell 
from  his  horse,  that  it  should  be  before  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Van  Duyn's  cottage;  that  is,  unless  he  could  have  been 
thrown  especially  before  his  own  door.  Mj"^.  Van  Duyn 
was  the  best  of  nurses,  and  so  convinced  the  physician  of 
her  skill,  that  he  was  content  to  leave  his  patient  with  her, 
while  he  rode  back  to  the  city  to  attend  to  other  engage- 
ments. 

"Be  delirious  —  have  fever  for  two  or  three  days  —  bo 
kept  quiet  —  be  here  some  time,  I'm  afraid,  but  fine  fellow, 
and  will  know  how  to  repay  kindness.  Upon  my  word ! 
couldn't  have  dropped  into  a  better  bed  ! " 

He  glanced  admiringly  around  the  neat  apartment  —  at 
the  refined-looking  widow  and  her  young  daughter  —  and 
out  into  the  little  parlor  at  the  Father-Land  painting. 

"  Shall  bring  Miss  Madison  with  me  this  afternoon. 
She  won't  be  kept  from  her  brother,  I  know  —  lovely  girl !" 

Taking  his  hat  and  gold-headed  cane.  Doctor  D 

returned  to  his  carriage.    In  the  meantime  Parke's  horse  had 
galloped  on  until  tired,  and  then  drew  up  before  a  gate  sev- 


152  THE  senator's  son. 

eral  miles  distant,  to  wliich  he  was  tied  by  tlie  proprietor  of 
the  grounds  until  something  should  be  heard  from  his  owner. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Doctor  D 

returned,  and  with  him  came  Alice.  The  first  she  had 
heard  of  the  accident  was  from  him.  He  was  Mr.  Craw- 
ford's family-physician,  and  knew  the  young  lady  well.  He 
told  her  that  he  should  not  permit  the  rest  of  Parke's 
friends  to  see  him  at  present,  but  she  might  go  along  with 
him,  if  she  would  be  a  good  girl,  and  not  make  any  confu- 
sion. Assuring  the  anxious  Mrs.  Crawford  that  there  was 
no  danger  of  anything  but  a  run  of  fever,  and  that  her  boy 
was  in  the  best  of  hands,  he  took  Alice  into  his  carriage, 
and  they  soon  arrived  at  the  cottage.  Despite  of  his  assur- 
ances, she  had  her  secret  fears,  and  her  strength  so  com- 
pletely left  her,  that  he  was  obliged  to  carry  her  into  the 
house  like  a  baby. 

''  This  little  girl  is  not  as  brave  as  you.  Miss  Yan 
Duyn,"  said  the  good  doctor,  as  he  sat  his  burden  down  on 
the  lounge. 

"  No  wonder  you  are  alarmed,"  said  Lucy,  gently  unty- 
ing the  stranger's  bonnet.  "  But  there  is  nothing  to  fear 
—  I  am  sure  we  may  all  have  confidence  in  the  assertion  of 

Doctor   D ."     Here,    having   removed   the   bonnet, 

and  seeing  a  beautiful,  pale  face,  with  a  pair  of  trembling 
lips  and  beseeching  eyes,  with  the  impulse  of  her  affection- 
ate nature  she  kissed  the  agitated  girl  and  said  more  kind 
words. 

"Where  is  he  ?"  was  Alice's  first  inquiry. 


THE   senator's   SON.  153 

"  He  is  in  this  room.  My  mother  is  with  him,  and  the 
doctor  says  we  must  be  quiet.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  still- 
ness itself !     Come,  let  me  help  you." 

She  passed  her  arm  around  Alice's  waist  and  they  went 
softly  in.  The  latter  could  hardly  repress  a  cry  when  she 
saw  her  brother  so  dreadfully  white,  his  head  bandaged  up, 
and  his  arm  splintered,  lying  with  closed  eyes  upon  the  bed, 
seemingly  nearly  unconscious,  except  an  occasional  moan. 
Mrs.  Van  Duyn  sat  by  the  bed-side.  Faint  and  trembling, 
Alice  clung  to  her  companion. 

"  My  poor  brother  I "  she  whispered. 

Lucy  led  her  out  to  the  dining-room,  made  her  drink  a 
glass  of  water  and  compose  herself;  then  she  gave  her  the 
particulars  of  the  accident  in  the  gentlest  manner. 

Parke  was  delirious  for  several  days  and  his  fever  ran 
high.  Alice  remained  with  him  constantly  —  the  only 
sleep  she  took  was  upon  the  chintz  sofa,  in  the  adjoining 
parlor  Mrs.  Van  Duyn  nursed  him  as  carefully  as  if  he 
had  not  been  a  stranger,  cast  by  accident  upon  her  kindness. 

At  last  he  was  slowly  recovering.  Never  had  an  inva- 
lid so  delightful  a  convalescence.  Lucy  and  Alice  had 
formed  a  friendship  which  was  both  natural  and  pleasing 
between  two  girls  so  nearly  of  an  age,  and  of  such  excellent 
minds  and  accomplishments.  Each  considered  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  other  a  new  store-house  of  delight,  and  they  re- 
gretted that  the  time  must  arrive  for  one  to  return  to  her 
own  home,  much  as  they  rejoiced  at  the  well-doing  of  their 
charge.     When  Parke  got  so  that  he  could  be  moved  to  the 


154  THE  senator's  son. 

sofa,  and  lie  there  nearly  all  day,  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  young  girls,  and  plucking  June  roses  to  pieces 
with  his  attenuated  fingers,  scattering  the  bloomy  showers 
over  the  carpet  for  Lucy  to  brush  up,  one  might  have 
thought  that  with  an  easy  carriage  and  a  few  pillows  he 
could  get  back  to  town.  But  neither  he  nor  his  sister  had 
any  inclination.  They  were  enjoying  themselves  very 
much ;  and  as  Mrs.  Van  Buyn  had  given  them  a  ready  per- 
mission to  stay  as  long  as  they  liked,  they  were  in  no  haste 
to  depart. 

Lucy  touched  the  guitar  with  melodious  fingers;  and 
sang  almost  as  sweetly  as  Alice.  Her  voice  was  of  a  differ- 
ent quality,  and  she  could  accompany  her  friend's  singing 
with  a  deep,  sweet  alto.  These  two  harmonious  voices 
mingled  with  the  tinkling  of  the  guitar,  and,  heard  in  the 
long  June  twilight,  seemed  to  Parke,  whose  senses  were  re- 
fined by  sickness,  a  music  more  of  heaven  or  of  dreams  than 
of  earth. 

He  did  not  wish  to  get  any  better  than  he  was  —  at 
least  for  two  or  three  year:-.  It  was  so  pleasant  to  lie  with 
his  head  in  Alice's  lap,  her  loving  fingers  thridding  his 
curls,  while  Lucy  sat  near  them  busy  with  her  embroidery, 
or  flattered  his  poor  appetite  with  strawberries,  gathered  by 
her  own  hands  fresh  from  the  garden,  with  real  cream  to 
make  them  more  delicious.  It  may  be  that  he  sometimes 
fretted  because  it  could  not  occur  that  Lucy  should  hold  his 
head,  while  Alice  gathered  the  berries ;  but  was  this  so,  he 
kept  it  to  himself.     There  was  such  nobility  in  the  cxprcs- 


THE  senator's  son.  155 

sion  of  Miss  Van  Duyn,  such  dignity  and  grace  in  her  ges- 
tures, that  Parke  reverenced  while  he  admired.  He  won- 
dered how  such  a  regal  flower  could  blossom  in  this  cottage- 
home.  But  the  child  had  only  the  same  nobility  as  her 
mother,  except  that  it  now  appeared  in  more  youthful  guise ; 
perchance,  too,  the  trials  of  the  parent  had  strengthened  and 
developed  the  attributes  of  her  own  and  daughter's  mind. 

There  was  no  longer  any  excuse  for  lingering  in  the 
country ;  and  Mrs.  Crawford  was  so  impatient  to  get  her 
children  back  again,  that  they  were  obliged  to  go. 

The  price  paid  for  their  board  had  made  the  stay  of  the 
brother  and  sister  a  pecuniary  gain  to  the  widow,  and  after 
the  first  discomfort  of  the  illness  was  over,  she  had  enjoyed 
their  society  very  much.  The  young  couple  loved  her  for 
her  motherly  kindness  as  well  as  for  her  good  sense  and  ac- 
complishments. The  children  were  desperately  attached  to 
Alice,  and  cried  heartily  when  she  went  away.  And  Willy, 
whose  red  banner  had  caused  such  a  serious  accident,  did 
not  know  who  would  any  longer  carve  him  ships  to  sail  in 
the  rain-barrel,  or  whistles  to  pierce  the  surrounding  air,  or 
puzzle-boxes  which  all  his  ingenuity  could  not  open,  but  that 
when  they  did  get  open  were  sure  to  hold  five-cent  pieces. 
Thinking  of  these  things,  as  he  saw  Parke  helped  into  the 
carriage,  he,  too,  was  disconsolate,  and  lifted  up  his  voice 
and  wept. 

However,  these  partings  were  not  without  hope.  It  was 
not  a  week  before  the  Madisons  were  back  to  spend  the  day. 
That  was  a  great  day  in  the  cottage  history.     All  the  chil- 


156  THE  senator's  son. 

dren  bad  presents,  and  were  given  a  holiday  from  their  les- 
sons. Alice  brought  Mrs.  Van  Duyn  a  handsome  black- 
silk  dress  pattern  to  persuade  her  to  let  Lucy  go  back  with 
them  and  spend  a  week  in  the  city. 

Such  a  dinner  the  towns  folks  declared  they  never  got 
at  home  !  Coffee  was  jiiade,  because  it  was  such  a  luxury 
with  pure  cream.  The  strawberries  had  vanished,  but  there 
was  honey  tempting  to  look  upon  as  the  crystal  sweetness 
dripped  from  the  delicate  cells.  The  tender  green-peas,  the 
sweet-corn,  and  the  chickens  smothered  in  cream,  were  the 
better  for  being  the  earliest.  After  dinner  they  passed  the 
afternoon  out  in  the  meadow,  under  the  shadow  of  a  huge 
oak,  and  by  the  border  of  the  creek  now  dwindled  to  a 
brook  that  Willy  could  leap  across.  Here  Parke  contrived 
to  make  Katy  fall  into  the  water,  and  she  had  to  be  sent  to 
the  house  for  a  dry  frock.  He  atoned  for  the  misfortune  by 
completing  her  toilet  when  she  returned  with  a  string  of 
corals,  which  he  fastened  about  her  pretty  neck  by  their 
golden  clasp.  The  long,  bright  hours  rolled  by ;  they 
stayed  to  tea ;  and  a  moonlight  ride  home,  accompanied  by 
Lucy,  crowned  the  enjoyment  of  the  day. 

-  Lucy  Yan  Duyn's  week  in  the  city  was  a  happy  one. 
It  was  not  the  season  for  gayety,  but  there  were  plenty  of 
things  to  be  seen  and  enjoyed.  There  was  good  music  in 
the  evening,  and  picture-galleries,  and  works  of  art  for  the 
day.  She  had  seen  and  heard  a  great  deal  before ;  but  in 
the  enthusiastic  company  of  her  young  companions,  all  was 
doubly  appreciated. 


THE    senator's    SON.  157 

Alfred  Clyde  took  Alice  into  his  own  care,  so  that  Parke 
could  give  his  undivided  attention  to  their  guest. 

Lucy,  who  had  become  acquainted  with  him  at  her  own 
house,  where  he  visited  the  invalid  often,  also  suspected, 
with  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  there  was  an  engagement 
between  him  and  her  friend.  His  manner  was  decidedly 
that  of  an  accepted  lover,  and  Alice's  demeanor  was  re- 
garded as  only  timid.  Lucy  would  have  felt  lonely  when 
she  returned  home,  had  not  the  children  been  so  crazy  with 
joy  to  get  her  back,  and  her  mother  welcomed  her  so  affec- 
tionately. 

That  she  did  have  many  lonely  hours  through  the  rest 
of  the  summer  was  true )  for  in  a  few  weeks,  the  Crawfords 
went  to  Saratoga,  then  in  the  heighth  of  its  glory,  and  took 
with  them  the  Madisons  and  Mr.  Clyde.  The  circle  of  her 
associates  sprang  back  to  its  old  dimensions,  and  though  her 
own  dear  family  were  all  there,  how  small  it  seemed,  and 
how  much  brightness  it  had  lost.  She  had  a  letter  every 
week  from  Alice,  with  messages  from  the  rest,  and  these 
were  a  great  happiness. 

Alfred  Clyde  would  not  have  thought  it  consistent  to 
permit  Alice  Madison  to  enter  the  splendid  crowds  at  Sara- 
too-a,  to  be  admired  and  coveted,  unless  he  were  present  like 
her  shadow,  intimating  to  all  others  that  his  right  to  her 
favor  was  exclusive.  She  was  too  artless  to  think  anything 
about  this,  and  as  she  had  rather  have  his  attentions  than 
those  of  strangers,  she  permitted  him  to  linger  by  her  side, 
without  much  care  for  the  opinions  of  the  throng,  with 
14 


158  THE  senator's  son. 

whom  she  mingled  but  little,  and  that  with  no  attempt 
at  display.  She  still  wore  mourning  for  her  ever-remem- 
bered mother,  and  would  not  and  could  not  be  made  a 
belle  of. 

Parke,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  distinguished  beaux ;  and 
Alfred  would  have  been,  if  his  devotion  to  one  person  would 
have  permitted  it.  The  young  ladies  were  divided  in  their 
admiration  of  the  pair  of  friends.  Parke  was  the  hand- 
somest, and  interesting  from  being  something  of  an  invalid ; 
while  Alfred  had  a  Spanish  look  that  was  adorable. 

One  appeared  consumptive,  and  the  other  had  such  eyes 
as  ought  to  belong  to  a  Spanish-bandit  of  the  mountains 
who  turns  out  to  be  a  lord  in  disguise ;  so  that  both  were 
perfectly  fascinating.  Their  fortunes  being  nearly  the  same, 
there  was  still  a  balance  of  favor  on  account  of  the  distin- 
guished  name  of  Madison  which  was  set  off  by  a  report  of 
the  romantic  southern  origin  of  Clyde.  Both  dashed  into 
the  highest  of  the  high-life  of  the  Springs ;  kept  their  spaij 
of  mettlesome  horses  each ;  and  took  the  ladies  to  ride  in 
their  own  elegant  barouches.  Both  paid  for  exquisite  sere- 
nades, and  were  lavish  of  fresh  boqucts.  And  when  it  be- 
came suspected  how  much  they  both  expended  for  cham- 
pagne, Mr.  Crawford  became  uneasy  about  going  home,  and 
Alice  was  feverish  to  depart.  Mrs.  Crawford  was  ready  to 
acquiesce  in  the  wishes  of  the  rest :  the  young  gentlciii  ii 
would  not  remain  without  them,  and  all  suddenly  van:.<li.  1 
from  Saratoga,  leaving  a  dreary  blank  in  Iheir  brilliant 
place. 


THE   senator's   SON.  159 

One  day  in  the  latter  part  of  August,  Lucy  Yan  Duyn 
sat  in  the  old  seat  by  the  front  window.  The  roses  were  all 
gone  now,  but  the  green  leaves  still  made  a  grateful  curtain, 
wooing  every  passing  breath  of  air.  Her  hands  were  folded 
idly  in  her  lap  —  her  eyes  looked  dreamily  out  upon  the 
dusty  road  —  her  whole  attitude  expressed  utter  uncon- 
sciousness to  surrounding  objects.  She  had  been  sketching, 
and  her  drawing-materials  lay  upon  the  round-table.  The 
sultriness  of  the  weather  justified  any  amount  of  indolence 
even  in  the  industrious  Lucy,  but  it  did  not  account  for  the 
shade  of  melancholy  upon  that  usually  serene  brow.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  shadow  of  the  vines,  leaves  trailing  to  and 
fro  across  her  face  as  if  in  love  with  its  fairness,  which  gave 
it  so  pensive  an  expression.  So  wholly  was  she  absorbed  in 
reverie  that  she  did  not  see  the  carriage  which  crossed  di- 
rectly her  angle  of  vision  until  it  drew  up  at  the  little  gate. 
Pit-a-pat !  went  her  heart  against  her  white  boddice,  and  a 
glow  rich  with  emotion  shot  into  her  clear  cheeks.  Gay 
laughter  out  of  door  and  light  feet  running  up  the  walk  so 
confused  her  that  she  could  only  rise  to  her  feet  and  stand 
waiting  the  expected  entrance. 

"  Dear  Lucy  !  we  are  all  home  again,  and  the  first  thing 
Parke  and  I  have  done,  is  to  come  and  see  you  ! " 

Alice  Madison  stood  in  the  room,  looking  bright  and 
beautiful  despite  of  six  miles  of  suff"ocating  dust.  Behind 
her  came  her  brother  j  but  as  Lucy  had  first  to  give  the 
sister  half-a-dozen  kisses,  and  be  clasped  a  full  minute  in 
her  arms,  she  had  time  to  send  the  foolish  heart  down  to 


160  THE   senator's   SON. 

its  proper  place,  before  she  held  out  her  hand  to  mm.  It 
was  a  brilliant  face,  though,  that  she  turned  to  him ;  brill- 
iant, even  with  the  eyes  hidden  beneath  their  long  fringes ; 
and  when  the  next  moment,  she  lifted  them,  their  soft  fire 
kindled  a  great  glow  in  the  bosom  of  the  young  man. 

^'  We  left  Saratoga  two  weeks  before  we  expected,  and 
as  I  had  no  time  to  write  you  about  it,  we  thought  we 
would  surprise  you  by  a  visit,  before  you  should  hear  of  our 
return,"  said  Alice,  taking  off  her  hat  and  gloves. 

"  A  delightful  surprise  \"  replied  Lucy,  carrying  away 
the  mantilla  and  bonnet  to  the  bed-room,  where  her  visitors 
followed  to  brush  off  a  portion  of  the  dust  accumulated 
upon  them. 

^'  Dear  mother,"  cried  Lucy,  as  Mrs.  Van  Duyn  came 
in  from  the  arbor,  where  she  had  been  sitting  with  her  sow- 
ing; ^' we  have  some  guests  —  can  you  guess?"  She  had 
hardly  time  to  exercise  her  skill  in  guessing,  and  not  being 
a  Yankee,  except  by  adoption,  she  might  not  have  made  out 
very  well ;  but  a  pair  of  arms  about  her  neck,  and  a  sweet 
kiss,  answered  for  her.  She  returned  Alice's  embrace  with 
the  most  affectionate  earnestness. 

"  I  think  your  sojourn  at  the  springs  has  done  you  good 
—  you  look  well  for  such  warm  weather  —  better  than  when 
you  went  away,"  she  remarked  with  a  motherly  look  at  the 
young  girl. 

"  It  must  be  because  I  am  so  happy  to  get  home,  then ; 
I  assure  you  it  is  a  tiresome  place  at  Saratoga.  I  would 
not   go  again,   if  I  wished  to   escape  with  life.      I  was 


THE    senator's    SON.  161 

drowned  —  I  was  suffocated  —  I  was  starved  —  I  was  per- 
secuted by  day  and  night ;  no  rest,  no  peace.  Melted  by 
day  and  kept  awake  all  night  by  serenades.  It  was  amus- 
ing though  to  see  the  people  !  Oh,  Lucy,  if  you  could  only 
go  to  Saratoga,  and  feast  your  eyes  upon  its  fantastic  mul- 
titude!" 

'^  It  has  not  done  you  any  harm  to  go  there,  I  know,'' 
replied  Lucy,  gazing  admiringly  upon  her  friend.  '^  Des- 
pite of  your  persecutions,  you  have  escaped  wath  several 
pounds  more  of  very  rosy  flesh,  and  a  little  gain  of  spirits 
too.'' 

Here  Parke  entered  from  the  bed-room,  and  was  wel- 
comed by  Mrs.  Van  Buyn.  His  gratitude  for  her  care 
during  his  illness,  and  his  respect  for  her  fine  qualities, 
amounted  to  a  goodly  degree  of  affection,  while  she  really 
loved  him.  Of  course  his  health  had  to  be  discussed,  as  it 
was  still  delicate  when  he  went  away,  and  now  did  not  ap- 
pear much  improved.  The  widow  had  some  suspicion  of 
the  cause  of  his  transparent  complexion  and  the  feverish 
brightness  of  his  dark-blue  eye.  Rumors  of  dissipated 
habits  had  reached  her,  and  she  now  looked  from  his  da^- 
zlingly  handsome  countenance,  to  the  face  of  her  own  child, 
with  anxiety.  What  she  read  in  both  caused  a  feeling  of 
uneasiness. 

^'  You  are  an  artist  are  you  ? "  said  Alice,  in  pleased 
surprise,  taking  up  a  sketch  from  the  table ;  for  she  had 
not  been  acquainted  with  her  friend's  talents  in  that  way. 

"Oh!  I  had  forgotten!"  cried  Lucy,  blushing  with 
14* 


/ 


162  THE  senator's  son. 

more  than  the  vividness  of  an  artist's  modesty,  and  spring- 
ing for  her  drawings.  They  were  akeady  in  the  hands  of 
Miss  Madison. 

'^  Look,  Parke !  here  is  a  likeness  of  you  —  and  per- 
fect!'' 

'^  I  do  not  think  it  as  good  as  this  one  of  i/ou .'"  said 
Lucy,  presenting  the  one  she  spoke  of. 

But  all  present  declared  the  representation  of  the  bro- 
ther to  be  the  best  —  although  both  were  admirable. 

^'  You  must  give  me  this  sketch  of  my  brother ;  it  is  so 
very  natural ;  and  with  his  '  happiest  expression '  too.  That 
earnest  soul  looking  out  of  an  eye  that  smiles  with  its  own 
beauty — that  saucy  curl  floating  over  upon  the  temple  —  and 
that  half-gay,  half-proud  curve  of  the  lip,  are  all  Parke's." 

"  You  flatter  me,  Allie,"  laughed  he. 

''  Since  I  can  make  another  easily,  you  may  have  that," 
said  the  artist.  "But  what  do  you  think  of  this?" 

She  took  out  of  a  little  box  upon  the  table  a  miniature, 
exquisitely  painted  upon  ivory,  of  a  female  face. 

"Did  you  really  do  it?"  cried  Alice;  '^  why,  you 
witch !  to  never  tell  me  you  could  do  such  delightful 
things." 

"  Whose  likeness  is  it?"  asked  Parke. 

"  I  do  not  know  the  lady,  except  as  a  sitter.  I  some- 
times paint  these  miniatures  for  the  pecuniary  reward  they 
bring,  as  well  as  the  pleasure  of  doing  them.  "  Else,"  and 
she  colored  and  smiled,  '^  how  should  I  have  fit  dresses  in 
which  to  visit  my  city  acquaintance?" 


THE   senator's    SON.  163 

"  Tins  will  be  a  fine  excuse  for  me  to  stay  a  week  and 
get  my  picture  done  for  a  locket/'  said  Parke. 

"  And  for  me  to  stay  three,  and  get  mine/'  added 
Alice. 

"I  am  sure  we  can  make  a  satisfactory  arrangement" 
was  the  smiling  reply.  Here  the  children  trooped  in  to  be 
welcomed  and  caressed,  and  the  drawings  were  put  away. 

Lucy  could  have  shown  Parke  another  lilceness  of  him- 
self, already  finished  on  ivory ;  but  as  it  was  something  she 
kept  for  her  own  especial  delight,  she  said  nothing  about 
it  now. 

When  the  visitors  arose  to  depart,  they  perceived  that  a 
thunder-shower  was  coming  rapidly  up.  So  the  horses  were 
driven  down  the  lane  under  shelter,  and  Mrs.  Van  Duyn 
had  the  pleasure  of  setting  her  tea-table  for  guests.  The 
etorm  was  a  real  August  storm,  brief  and  wild.  The  wind 
tore  the  clinging  vines  from  the  window,  and  kid  the  tall 
corn  in  the  garden  all  aslant.  Darkness  swept  forward  on 
rushing  wings,  which  seemed  to  pause  just  overhead;  its 
garments  were  torn  every  moment  by  lightning,  and  its 
wings  wounded  by  flaming  swords.  Every  time  the  light- 
nino-  smote,  its  voice  was  heard ;  first  in  far  and  solemn 
reverberations,  then  sharp  and  startling  in  the  surrounding 
air.  As  long  as  Mrs.  Van  Duyn  would  permit  them,  the 
girls  stood,  their  arms  encircling  each  other,  upon  the  little 
portico  off  the  dining-room,  watching  with  half-fearful  de- 
light the  magnificence  of  the  western  sky.  But  when  the 
storm  came  immediately  overhead,  and  largo  drops  of  rain 


1G4  THE  senator's  son. 

and  hail  dashed  across  the  porch,  she  made  them  come  in 
and  close  the  door. 

^^  They  who  put  their  trust  in  the  Lord,  need  have  no 
fear/'  she  said.     "  Still  it  is  not  well  to  mock  at  danger." 

So  the  girls  went  in  and  sat  down  near  the  centre  of  the 
room,  with  their  pretty  feet  drawn  up  to  the  rungs  of  their 
chairs,  looking  upon  each  other  gravely  through  the  gloom, 
and  listening  with  awe  and  pleasure  to  the  close  and  deep 
rolling  thunder. 

"  I  can  never  think  of  anything  but  the  words  of  the 
grand  old  Prophets  during  a  storm  like  this,"  said  Alice,  in 
one  of  the  pauses.  "  Their  voices  alone  equal  in  sublimity 
the  voice  of  Nature  as  she  speaks  through  her  thunders." 

'^  Byron's  famous  description  of  a  storm  amid  the  Alp:^, 
always  recurs  to  me,"  answered  Lucy.  "  Its  majestic  lines 
seem  to  roll  and  reverberate  with  the  very  music  he  heard 
amid  the  mountains  j  and  they  shine  in  grandly  with  tiie 
roar  of  the  elements.  But  above  all,  and  in  all,  seems  tlio 
prevailing  Spirit  of  God." 

"  What  do  you  think  of,  Parke  ?  you  love  a  scene  like 
this,  do  you  not?"  asked  Alice  of  her  brother,  who  h.jd 
retreated  long  ago  to  the  lounge,  and  laid  with  his  face 
buried  in  the  pillows. 

A  sharper  flash,  a  louder  peal,  a  fresh  sweep  of  winds, 
and  a  wilder  rattle  of  hail,  deafened  all  ears,  and  prevented 
the  necessity  of  reply.  Ah !  Parke  little  cared  to  reply  to 
that  question  I  For  guilt  is  always  cowardly ;  and  never, 
since  he  broke  the  vow  he  vowed  to  a  dying  mother,  could 


THE   senator's   SON.  165 

the  young  man  take  pleasure  in  a  thunder-storm.  The 
lightning  to  him  seemed  a  sword  of  vengeance,  and  the 
thunder  a  voice  calling  upon  him  in  threatening  accents  for 
atonement.  He  would  fain  have  flown  from  both ;  but  as 
that  was  impossible,  he  could  only  lie  pale  and  trembling, 
thinking  of  his  mother's  grave,  of  an  offended  God,  and  of 
judgment.  Had  he  convinced  himself  of  the  sincerity  of 
his  repentance  by  the  innocence  of  his  life  now,  he  might 
have  heard  tones  of  hope  and  mercy  as  well  as  reproach. 
But  he  was  going  farther  and  farther  every  day  from  good, 
and  conscience  in  such  moments  asserted  her  mute  power. 
The  storm  swept  on  towards  the  east,  and  again  the  doors 
were  thrown  open,  and  the  little  party  gathered  on  the  por- 
tico. What  a  delicious  change  its  brief  visit  had  wrought  I 
The  air  was  cool  and  fragrant  —  the  unhealthy  heat  was 
gone  —  the  fields  sparkled  with  rain,  and  there  was  no  fear 
of  being  smothered  in  dust  during  the  ride  home.  But  the 
west !  the  west !  what  a  gorgeous  sky  was  there !  swim- 
ming and  melting  in  a  sea  of  azure,  crimson  and  gold,  the 
light  clouds  floated,  like  white  swans  in  a  silver  sea,  or  birds 
of  Paradise  in  Eden's  amber  air. 

Parke  could  look  now  with  composure ;  but  his  features 
still  wore  the  marks  of  his  secret  struggle. 

Tea  was  eaten  with  an  appetite.  When  the  carriage 
came  round  to  the  door,  the  sun  was  just  sitting  amid  pur- 
ple clouds,  and  a  young  moon  lifted  her  silver  brow  timidly 
from  the  orient.  With  a  promise  to  return  soon  and  talk 
over  the  matter  of  the  pictures,  the  Madisons  drove  away. 


9/-- 


166  THE  senator's  son. 

As  the  horses  sped  lightly  along  through  the  clear  twilight, 
overcome  by  the  beauty  of  the  hour  and  the  fervor  of  his 
late  emotions,  Parke  dropped  his  head  upon  his  sister's 
shoulder,  while  the  tears  ran  swiftly  down  his  cheeks.  It 
was  the  first  time  in  months  that  he  had  wept,  though  the 
tears  used  to  gather  on  his  eye-lids  easily  as  on  a  girl's. 
AYeakuess  was  that  ?  yes  the  weakness  of  a  heart  not  hard- 
ened—  a  heart  full  of  sympathy,  laughing  with  the  gay, 
weeping  with  mourners,  as  hearts  were  made  to  do.  Since 
habits  of  dissipation  had  come  upon  him,  and  he  had  grown 
familiar  with  the  words  of  contempt  and  ridicule  hurled  at 
goodness  by  reckless  youth,  tears  had  been  less  frequent  vis- 
itors. Perhaps  the  vision  of  that  noble  and  pure  girl  who 
stood  at  the  gate  with  the  sunset  radiance  illuminating  her 
brown  eyes  and  tinging  her  roseate  cheeks  —  whose  soft 
good-bye  still  lingered  in  his  ear  —  had  a  good  deal  to  do 
with  this  melting  down  of  his  heart. 

Alice  did  not  observe  that  he  was  weeping,  but  the 
touch  of  his  head  upon  her  shoulder  called  up  the  olden 
times  when  there  was  nothing  but  innocent,  unquestioning 
pleasure  in  the  bosoms  of  each,  when  in  each  other's  society. 
Her  love  for  him  was  still  unchanged.  Every  wound  he 
inflicted  by  his  misconduct  seemed  to  incite  deeper  love,  as 
it  awoke  pity  and  forgiveness.  The  evening  breezes  blew 
the  curls  from  his  temples  against  her  face  —  one  of  his 
hands  she  held  in  her's  —  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Hespe- 
rus, who,  large  and  bright,  shone  in  the  still  faintly-glowing 
west. 


THE  senator's  son.  167 

"  Parke  !  that  star  is  so  serene,  so  brilliant,  so  gentle, 
I  can  liken  it  to  nothing  but  our  mother's  spirit.  I  can 
imagine  that  she  is  standing  there  in  the  sky,  smiling  upon 
us,  holding  one  silver-white  hand  upward,  and  with  the 
other  beckoning  to  us.'' 

^'  Smiling  upon  you  Allie;  but  not  upon  me  !  I  dare 
not  raise  my  eyes  to  it,"  he  replied,  his  glance  following  the 
wheel-marks  along  the  road,  instead  of  Alice's  look.  She 
heard  him  weeping,  and  hardly  dared  to  comfort  him )  for 
his  promises  were  so  often  made  and  so  often  broken,  that 
she  almost  dreaded  to  hear  him  renew  them.  She  kissed 
his  hand  and  his  forehead,  and  he  felt  her  tears  falling 
warm  among  his  curls,  but  she  said  nothing. 

Many  and  many  times  were  scenes  like  these  enacted ; 
when  it  seemed  as  if  a  "  broken  and  contrite  spirit"  was 
about  to  offer  acceptable  sacrifices  upon  the  altar. 

But  darker  clouds  ever  swept  on  over  the  glimpses  of 
sunshine,  until  it  seemed  as  if  there  never  again  would  be  a 
day  of  brightness  and  beauty. 

The  miniatures  upon  ivory  were  began  and  completed ; 
but  a  shadow  rested  on  the  brows  of  the  painter  and  her 
bitters  —  it  hovered  around  the  easel  and  flitted  over  the 
pullet  —  it  was  not  always  there,  but  often  —  none  spoke 
of  it,  but  all  felt  its  weight.  It  affected  the  pictures  too. 
I> )  all  she  could  to  give  it  the  beaming  smile  of  Alice,  th-j 
nrh'st  could  not  do  away  with  the  melancholy  in  the  eyes 
jiii.l  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth  in  her  picture.  As  fi-r 
l\irke,  Lucy  gave   up  trying  to  satisfy  herself  with   his 


168  THE  senator's  son. 

present  expressions  either  of  excessive  gayety  or  spiritless 
fatigue,  and  painted  from  her  old  sketch  of  him,  taken  when 
his  physical  powers,  weakened  by  illness,  were  held  in 
bonds  by  the  soul. 

There  was  a  musical  and  golden  vein  of  poetry  flowing 
through  Parke's  nature,  that  leaped  into  light  in  his  very 
darkest  hours,  and  would  show  itself  in  an  hundred  spark- 
ling shapes  in  as  many  moments.  So  that  when  dull  after 
an  excess,  or  just  warmed  enough  with  wine  to  be  eloquent, 
or  when  in  the  full  tide  of  a  riot,  he  preserved  always  some 
glimpse  of  his  original  character. 

In  his  palmy  days,  those  days  when  the  family  dwelt 
upon  the  farm,  and  those  passed  during  convalescence  in  the 
society  of  the  Van  Duyn's,  he  could  make  himself  indescrib- 
ably interesting  in  conversation,  and  agreeable  as  an  associ- 
ate. His  father  had  been  distinguished  for  wit ;  and  the 
son  transcended  him ;  to  wit  he  added  sensibility,  humor, 
and  pathos,  in  a  high  degree. 

His  memory  was  stored  with  graceful  anecdotes  and 
bright  snatches  of  poetry  —  with  stray  bits  of  sentiment  and 
little  tragedies  in  one  act  —  with  fanciful  facts  and  happy 
illustrations  —  all  of  which  came  from  his  lips  with  a  winning 
and  genial  grace.  Now  the  spell  came  over  him  but  seldom. 
His  dark-blue  eye,  instead  of  being  fixed  upon  your  face  witb 
that  clear  and  sparkling  glance,  had  a  downcast  and  uneasy 
expression,  and  the  laugh,  once  so  thrilling  with  its  conta- 
gious mirth,  was  short  and  mocking.  No  wonder  that  the 
two  girls  lost  some  of  their  happiness  in  his  society. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

^'^  Good-bye,  dear  mother ;  I  shall  come  home  every 
weekj  if  I  can.  Good-bye,  Katy,  darling.  Good-bye,  Wil- 
lie/' cried  Lucy  Van  Duyn,  with  a  kiss  for  them  all,  as 
muffled  in  hood  and  cloak  she  came  forth  from  the  cottage, 

A  trunk  was  already  in  the  sleigh ;  John,  the  driver, 
and  a  goodly  pile  of  lined  bufialo-robes,  took  up  nearly  all  the 
rest  of  the  room ;  so  that  there  was  just  a  place  left  for  the 
bundle  of  wrappings,  with  Lucy  inside,  which  was  lastly 
added  to  its  contents.  Ugh  I  how  cold  it  was  !  too  cold  for 
Alice  to  venture  out,  who  was  not  very  well ;  so  she  had  sent 
John  with  the  pleasant  commission  to  bring  back  Miss  Van 
Duyn,  who  was  to  stay  with  her  at  least  two  months.  This 
had  long  been  arranged  between  them,  provided  Lucy  could 
make  up  her  mind  to  leave  her  mother  so  lonely;  and  as 
Alice  had  promised  that  she  might  spend  a  day  at  home 
every  week,  this  was  concluded  very  satisfactorily. 

The  cold  made  the  spirited  horses  doubly  fleet,  and  a 
15 


170  THE    senator's    SON. 

very  short  time  after  the  good-byes  were  spokcii,  the  bundle 
of  wrappings  and  the  trunk  were  set  down  in  the  hall  of 
Mr.  Crawford's  mansion.  Alice  appeared  from  the  parlor, 
looking  very  glad,  and  helped  bring  down  the  pyramid  of 
cloaks  until  her  entombed  friend  was  brought  to  view,  smil- 
ing and  serene,  not  the  least  bit  bitten  by  the  frost  —  not 
even  her  pretty  nose.  She  then  led  her  in  to  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford, who  welcomed  her  warmly,  and  who  was  really  very 
glad  that  her  daughter  was  going  to  have  a  companion,  who 
might  do  something  towards  calling  back  the  roses  to  her 
face  and  the  laughter  to  her  lips.  For  Alice  was  growing 
sad  —  not  the  sacred  sadness  which  mourned  once  for  a 
newly-lost  mother  —  but  a  restless,  pining  melancholy,  that 
seemed  fretting  into  her  health.  It  did  not  disturb  her 
temper,  except  to  make  her  more  patient  and  less  gay; 
over  that,  which  was  too  gentle  to  need  much  governing,  she 
still  had  sweet  control. 

The  young  ladies  had  plenty  with  which  to  busy  them- 
selves. It  was  near  the  holidays ;  and  Mrs.  Crawford  was 
bent  upon  giving  a  party  on  New  Year's  Eve.  They  inter- 
ested themselves  in  her  arrangements  —  there  were  some 
new  dresses  to  be  made  —  and  Lucy  painted  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Crawford's  miniatures,  by  means  of  the  liberal  reward  for 
which  she  was  enabled  to  purchase  a  suitable  evening  toilet. 

Besides  all  of  this,  Alice  was  composing  some  music, 
for  which  she  had  always  shown  genius,  and  was  capable 
of  doing  more  than  passably  well.     They  were  nut  inter- 


THE  senator's  son.  171 

ru2:)ted  mucli,  evenings,  for  Alfred  Clyde  did  not  visit  them 
as  often  as  formerly,  and  Parke  seldom  came  in  until  after 
they  had  retired.  Once  or  twice  during  the  week  he  might 
remain  at  home  with  them ;  but  his  eye  was  heavy,  his 
manner  constrained. 

Despite  of  all  this  business,  they  could  not  "  drive  dull 
care  away."  If  Alice  wore  a  dejected  look,  Lucy's  was  as 
spiritless ;  it  was  as  often  the  latter  whose  heavy  sigh  first 
startled  an  unconscious  response.  Yet  there  was  no  confi- 
dence between  the  two  on  the  subject  of  their  grief,  except 
the  mute  sympathy  of  looks. 

New  Year's  Eve  came,  finding  Mrs.  Crawford's  rooms 
a-blaze  with  light,  and  wearing  a  festive  air  in  honor  of  ex- 
pected guests.  The  girls  were  in  their  chambers,  taking  a 
last  peep  into  the  mirror  before  going  down.  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford, who  had  finished  dressing,  was  giving  them  that  care- 
ful survey  befitting  her  important  responsibility  in  bringing 
out  two  such  beautiful  young  ladies.  She  might  well  look 
satisfied  and  happy ;  there  was  but  one  fault  to  be  found 
with  her  youthful  friends,  and  that  was  that  both  wore  a 
grave  and  anxious  expression  little  befitting  the  gayety  of 
the  occasion.  She  begged  of  them  to  look  a  little  more  an- 
imated ;  and  to  please  her  they  tried  hard,  but  down  would 
drop  the  corners  of  the  mouth  the  next  moment,  and  the 
delicate  brows  would  settle  into  gravity.  Both  wore  ele- 
gant dresses  of  white.  Lucy's  sleeves  were  looped  and  fast- 
ened with  two  old-fashioned  jewels  which  were  heir-looms 


172  THE  senator's  son. 

in  her  family ;  her  hair  was  braided  in  a  rich  coiffure  bj 
Mrs.  Crawford's  dressing-maid,  and  its  dark  beauty  set  oft 
by  one  or  two  white  flowers. 

The  back  of  Alice's  hair  was  prettily  knotted,  and  the 
rest  fell  in  lovely  curls  down  either  cheek.  As  her  friend, 
being  taller  and  more  queenly  in  her  look,  wore  the  came- 
lias,  she  contented  herself  with  a  few  rose-buds  from  a  rare 
tree  which  blossomed  in  the  conservatory. 

The  fans  and  delicate  handkerchiefs  were  ready  to  be 
taken  up,  when  there  came  a  light  knock  at  the  door.  Alice 
hastened  to  open  it,  and  there  stood  Parke,  looking  more 
like  himself  than  she  had  seen  him  for  weeks,  and  in  fine 
spirits.  He  brought  two  costly  bouquets,  which  he  handed 
to  his  sister,  designating  which  one  he  had  caused  to  be 
made  up  for  Lucy.  It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  both  the 
ladies  brightened  up ;  the  anxious  expression  fled,  and  they 
went  down  to  the  parlors  as  happy  as  they  were  fair.  A 
dread  lest  Parke  should  appear  in  a  condition  to  disgrace 
himself  and  others  had  been  the  secret  of  their  sadness; 
and  now  to  see  him  so  well  and  bright  was  the  removing  of 
a  weight  which  allowed  their  spirits  to  rebound  with  more 
than  their  usual  buoyancy. 

The  evening  was  pleasant  to  all ;  to  most  of  the  guests 
delightful.  Little  Mrs.  Crawford,  as  we  have  said  before, 
had  no  children  to  occupy  her  mind,  and  as  it  was  naturally 
inclined  to  such  matters,  she  excelled  the  most  of  her  five 
hundred  friends  in  the  arrangements  of  all  kinds  of  parties 
from  a  ball  to  a  pic-nic. 


THE    SENATORS    SON.  I/O 

Alice  was  always  urged  for  music  —  not  tliat  she  had  to 
be  urged  —  hut  people  were  never  satisfied  when  she  had 
given  them  as  much  as  she  thought  she  had  a  right  to. 
After  singing  several  times,  she  declined  to  sing  again ;  but 
she  played  an  accompaniment  while  Lucy,  who  only  had  a 
knowledge  of  the  guitar,  sang  these  words  : 

Return !  return !  a  voice  is  calling, 

I  hear  it  down  the  stormy  sky, 
Distant  and  sweet  the  tones  are  falling 

Like  silver  dew  distilled  on  high. 
It  is  an  angel-mother  crying 

Unto  a  lost  and  wandering  child  — 
*'  From  heaven  —  from  me,  why  art  thou  flying  ? 

Dash  down —  dash  down  the  wine-cup  wild  !  " 

Return !  return  !  I  hear  her  praying, 

A  sister  on  her  bended  knee. 
"  Where  are  thy  poor  feet  darkly  straying?  — 

Return  to  happiness,  and  me." 
Her  tears  and  smiles  so  sweetly  beaming 

Call  thee  from  the  alluring  way ; 
False  is  the  light  before  thee  gleaming  — 

Dash  down  !  dash  down  the  wine-cup  gay ! 

Return !  return  !  they  faint  and  falter. 

Those  accents  with  such  son-ow  breathe ; 
Dash  down  the  wine  on  pleasure's  altar, 

Tear  from  thy  brow  the  glowing  wreatli ! 
It  is  a  maiden  pale  who  calls  thee  — 

*'  Come  back,  to  love,  to  hope,  to  light!  " 

15* 


174  THE  senator's  son. 

Break  from  the  shining  chain  that  thralls  thee  — 
Dash  down !  dash  down  the  wine-cup  bright ! 

Return  !  return !  it  is  the  pleading 

Of  Jesus  with  a  wandering  lamb. 
How  darest  thou  still  stray  on,  unheeding 

That  voice  rebuking,  heavenly-calm  ? 
Ah !  soon  will  cease  the  loving  warning  — 

The  sainted  mother  lose  her  child ! 
And  thou  be  left  to  angel's  scorning  — 

Dash  down  !  dash  down  the  wine-cup  wild ! 

Her  voice  quivered  a  little  through  the  first  verse,  but 
after  that  she  sang  with  thrilling  sweetness  and  power.  She 
dared  to  let  her  eyes  rest' on  nothing  but  the  sheet  of  music 
before  her,  but  she  seemed  to  be  pleading  with  some  one 
present;  with  such  impassioned  pathos  did  she  sing.  The 
words  and  music  were  both  new ;  and  while  the  listeners  wert 
expressing  their  pleasure  and  asking  some  questions  about 
the  song,  Parke,  who  had  leaned  by  the  piano  when  it  was 
commenced,  quitted  the  apartment.  The  first  words  had 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  singer ;  he  had  grown  pale  as  she 
proceeded,  but  he  listened  till  the  last  quiver  died  away, 
and  then  went  out,  and  appeared  no  more  during  the  stay 
of  the  guests. 

If  others  had  not  noticed  his  emotion,  it  was  because  all 
were  in  a  measure  spell-bound  by  the  earnestness  of  her 
manner.  There  were  others  besides  Parke  who  might  have 
felt  the  appeal  —  who  did  feel  it  for  a  moment,  and  then 
forgot  it  as  they  had  done  other  appeals. 


THE    senator's    SON.  175 

After  the  company  liad  left,  as  the  young  girls  stood  by 
the  library  table,  pulling  the  flowers  from  their  hair,  draw- 
ing oif  their  gloves,  and  talking  over  the  events  of  the  even- 
ing, Parke  came  in,  walking  up  to  Miss  Van  Duyn,  he 
seized  her  hands  in  so  tight  a  grasp  that  she  nearly  cried 
out. 

"  Lucy,  how  dared  you  sing  that  song  this  evening  (* 
Did  you  do  it  only  to  mortify  me  ?  Every  one  must  have 
known  at  whom  it  was  sung  with  such  effect )  I  shall  never 
forgive  you  —  never  I '' 

And .  flinging  away  her  hands,  he  went  out  again,  leav- 
ing the  offender  in  tears. 

A  fortnight  from  then,  Mr.  Crawford  again  banished 
Parke  from  his  house,  and  with  no  hope  of  restoration  to 
his  favor.  Of  age,  and  at  liberty  to  pursue  his  inclinations, 
the  young  man  would  have  long  ago  left  the  home  of  his 
former  guardian,  whose  strictness  of  principle  was  a  contin- 
ual reproach  to  him,  had  he  not  been  restrained  from  love 
to  his  sister.  She  was  still  the  star  whose  changeless  ray 
beamed  brightly  over  his  fortunes  j  the  farther  he  fell  from 
self-respect  the  more  deeply  he  reverenced  and  adored  her. 
She  seemed  to  him  a  creature  without  fault,  yet  who,  amid 
all  her  own  perfections,  could  love  and  cherish  him.  He 
was  unhappy  if  denied  her  society,  and  he  was  unhappy 
when  in  it,  as  he  felt  the  gentle  sadness  of  her  mannner 
the  severest  rebuke  to  his  wild  behavior.  He  mockingly 
thanked  Mr.  Crawford  for  dismissing  him;  and  taking 
rooms  in  a  g^  Y  part  of  the  town,  he  furnished  them  with 


176  THE  senator's  son. 

great  splendor,  and  set  up  the  establishment  of  a  rich  and 
reckless  young  bachelor. 

Alice  did  not  this  time  propose  to  follow  him.  She 
gave  herself  up  for  a  while  to  dismay  and  despair;  then 
struggling  with  her  cares,  she  endeavored  to  throw  them  off 
and  be  free.  She  never  failed  in  love,  nor  in  making  every 
effort  which  seemed  worth  the  trial,  to  save  her  brother. 

Lucy  was  called  home  by  the  illness  of  little  Katy,  so 
that  the  poor  child  had  no  real  fi'iend  and  comforter.  Mrs. 
Crawford  worshiped  her,  and  could  not  bear  to  see  her  in 
any  trouble ;  but  she  was  not  a  woman  capable  of  giving 
so  and  advice,  or  of  bearing  up  a  sinking  spirit. 

The  most  terrible  hours  of  life  are  those  passed  alone  in 
struggles  with  one's  self.  Whether  it  be  a  struggle  for  the 
mastery  over  temptation,  over  an  evil  fortune,  over  fate, 
over  affliction,  over  remorse,  we  shudder  at  ourselves  and 
the  power  of  our  own  passions.  Parke  Madison  was  hold- 
ing sueh  a  war  with  himself.  Midnight  had  long  rolled  by, 
and  the  lamps  in  his  chamber  were  burning  dim.  He  did 
not  think  of  sleep. 

'^Ruinl  ruin!''  he  muttered,  flinging  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  the  next  moment  starting  up  again.  "It  is  all 
over  with  me  now.  My  fortune  is  gone  —  my  health,  my 
good  name  —  Alice's  heart  is  broken,  the  family  honor  for- 
ever sullied  —  and  I  am  a  wretch,  fated  to  pass  the  hours 
of  a  cursed  life  within  the  walls  of  a  prison.  Yes,  a  prison  ! 
Alice,  can  you  bear  that?*'asking  the  question,  with  bitter 
emphasis,  as  if  his  sister  stood  before  him.     "  But  I  will 


THE   senator's   SON.  177 

die  and  rot  in  the  darkest  cell  before  he  shall  have  the  re- 
ward which  would  purchase  his  silence.  Alfred  Clyde,  you 
are  a  traitor  —  oh,  you  are  a  traitor,  or  you  would  not  force 
upon  me  this  bitter  choice." 

It  had  chanced  to  Parke,  that  having  surrendered  his 
judgment,  prudence,  and  reason,  for  a  glass  of  intoxicating 
beverage,  while  in  that  helpless  situation  where  he  had 
placed  himself,  he  had  committed  a  crime.  His  suppers, 
horses,  cards,  billiards,  and  bets,  for  the  last  eighteen 
months,  had  amounted  to  nearly  the  whole  of  his  once  fine 
fortune. 

Added  to  the  lavish  expenditure  upon  his  new  rooms,  he 
had  of  late  been  very  unfortunate  at  the  gaming-table,  so 
that  he  found  himself  burdened  with  a  *  debt  of  honor ' 
which  he  could  command  no  means  to  pay.  He  dared  not 
ask  Alice  for  the  amount  out  of  her  fortune,  for  he  knew 
that  she  could  not  procure  it  without  the  knowledge  of  Mr, 
Crawford.  He  applied  to  his  friend  Alfred;  but  he  de- 
cidedly refused  to  loan  him  anything  for  such  a  purpose. 
Mortified  and  angry  at  this  refusal  from  a  friend,  he  went 
home  and  drank  several  glasses  of  brandy-and-water,  and 
while  in  the  excited  mood  induced  by  these,  Alfred  came  in. 

"  I  have  been  remembering  our  college-days,"  said  he, 
"  when  I  was  indebted  to  you  for  aiding  me  out  of  many  a 
tight  place ;  and  have  repented,  almost,  my  refusal ;  though 
I  blame  your  folly,  and  tell  you  truly  that  you  will  be  a 
beggar  before  the  end  of  a  year." 

'  If  I  could  only  free  myself  from  this  afiair,  and  win 


178  THE  senator's  son. 

my  money  back  again,  I  would  be  willing  to  forswear  play/* 
replied  Parke. 

"  Well/'  said  Alfred,  sitting  down  at  a  table  and  writ- 
ing, '^  I  am  going  to  write  an  order  on  my  banker  for  five 
thousand  dollars,  and  leave  it  here,  but  I  shall  give  it  no 
signature,  so  that  it  will  be  a  mere  piece  of  paper.  Bring 
it  to  me  one  week  from  now,  with  the  assertion  thit  you 
have  not  been  a  drunken  man  for  that  length  of  time,  and 
I  will  put  my  name  to  it,  and  you  may  take  your  time 
about  returning  it.'' 

^'  That's  a  little  more  like  it,  Alf ,  my  boy !  but  why 
not  sign  it  now  ?  That  debt  was  to  be  paid  to-morrow,  and 
I'd  rather  have  three  thousand  then,  than  the  whole  of  it 
in  seven  days." 

"  You  can  put  them  off  a  week  easily.  I've  a  fancy  to 
see  if  five  thousand  dollars  will  tempt  you  to  keep  sober  a 
week.  I  do  it  for  Alice's  sake,  my  friend  —  you  know  that 
you  are  killing  her.  So  be  a  good  child  for  once,"  he  added, 
laughing  as  he  went  out,  "  and  don't  be  tempted  to  fill  out 
that  little  piece  of  paper  with  my  name  until  I  see  fit  to  do 
it  myself." 

"  Alf.  always  concludes  to  be  generous,  whatever  ugly 
freaks  he  may  take,"  mused  the  young  man  when  left  alone. 
"  Why  in  the  mischief,  though,  does  he  want  to  keep  me 
waiting  ?  St.  Ormond  will  suspect  I  am  pretty  hard  up, 
and  cut  my  acquaintance.  Very  well !  I  hate  him  anyhow  j 
but  he's  such  a  sneering  way  with  him,  that  I'd  rather  fail 
to  meet  any  other  debt  than  that.     By  the  way,  that  was  a 


THE    senator's    SON.  179 

timely  liint  of  AltVs.  If  my  liand  T7as  only  steady  enough, 
I  might  just  as  well  add  the  signature  to  this  and  get  the 
money  for  to-moiTOW.  Of  course  I  can  keep  my  senses  a 
week  if  I  have  a  mind  to  try,  and  it  will  make  no  difference 
with  him  when  the  time  is  up." 

A  thousand  times*  he  had  imitated  Clyde's  signature 
when  they  were  at  school  together ;  he  now  sat  down,  and 
with  a  few  flourishes  of  his  pen,  the  paper  was  ready  for 
use.  Tlie  mouse  had  nibbled  at  the  bait  so  temptingly  laid, 
the  trap  was  sprung  and  fastened  upon  its  helpless  victim. 

Alfred  Clyde  hardly  dared  hope  so  easily  to  get  poor, 
foolish  Parke  into  his  power.  At  the  end  of  a  week  he 
called  upon  him. 

"  So  you  have  been  a  little  up  in  the  clouds  once  or 
twice  lately,  despite  of  a  weight  of  five  thousand  dollars  to 
attach  you  to  earth  ?  "  he  asked,  carelessly.  "  You  can  give 
me  back  that  draft,  Parke,  for  I  am  a  man  of  my  word." 

"  Pooh,  Alf.,  I've  been  trudging  along  as  soberly  as  any 
man  —  only  two  bottles  of  genuine  old  Madeira,  '  Sheffield' 
on  the  wax,  that  some  unknown  friend  sent  me.  Too  late 
for  you  to  repent  now,  at  all  events.  Your  order  was  pre- 
sented six  days  ago,  money  received,  and,  what's  better, 
spent." 

'^The  deuce  it  was!  without  any  signature?" 

"  I  could  always  write  more  like  you  than  you  could 
yourself,"  said  Parke,  laughing ;  "  and  as  it  was  inconve- 
nient for  me  to  await  your  further  action,  I  tried  my  skill 
on  your  banker." 


180  niE  senator\s  son. 

"  Ah-h  I  are  you  aware  that  was  forgery  ?'' 

''  Why  I  suppose  it  would  Lave  been  to  haye  used  any 
body  else's  name  in  that  manner/'  was  the  easy' reply  j  for 
if  he  had  served  Alice  so^  he  would  as  soon  have  looked  for 
its  being  taken  up. 

"  And  it  is  to  have  used  mine/'  said  Alfred,  with  icy 
coolness.  "  You  shall  learn,  Mr.  Madison,  that  I  am  not 
to  be  trifled  with." 

Parke  looked  up  in  astonishment.  There  was  bo  ap- 
pearance of  affectation  in  the  dark  eye  bent  threateningly 
upon  him. 

"  You  promised  to  lend  me  the  amount,  Alfred.  What 
difference  can  it  possibly  make  with  you  ?  you  are  not  in 
earnest  ?  " 

"  Am  I  not  ?  Well,  perhaps  I  had  better  relinquish  all 
claims  to  anything  of  my  own,  since  a  man,  who  is  half  the 
time  less  responsible  than  a  fool,  can  at  any  moment  licli) 
himself  to  a  few  thousands,  without  as  much  as  saying  '  by 
your  leave.'  No,  Sir  1  You  have  done  a  pretty  deed,  and 
not  with  impunity." 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  Parke,  offended  at  such  lan- 
guage. ''  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  ventured  to  '  trifle'  with 
a  brother.  But  since  I  have  been  guilty  of  such  indiscre- 
tion, he  shall  be  satisfied.  By  the  sale  of  my  black  ponies, 
disposing  of  these  rooms,  and  a  few  other  sacrifices,  I  can 
have  the  money  returned  to  you  in  a  very  few  days." 

^'  But  that  will  not  satisfy  me.  You  have  committed  a 
forgery,  and  you  are  in  my  power." 


THE    senator's    SON.  181 

"What  would  you  have  me  do?''  asked  Parke,  indig- 
nantly, the  fire  flashing  from  his  eyes  as  he  turned  abruptly 
and  faced  his  companion,  whose  countenance  wore  a  look  of 
unpleasant  triumph. 

"  Nothing  very  difficult  for  you,  "but  of  vast  importance 
to  me.  You  can  keep  your  ponies  and  your  establishment. 
All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  try  and  interest  Alice  in  my  favor. 
Parke ! "  continued  he,  with  sudden  earnestness,  that  was 
almost  sadness,  "  I  have  loved  her  for  years.  You  know 
it.  So  well,  that  I  have  never,  like  all  other  young  men, 
had  any  passing  fancy,  any  fleeting  passion,  that  was  not 
true  to  her.  I  have  been  a  faithful  and  humble  worshiper 
of  her  maiden  beauty ;  and  in  return  I  have  received  noth- 
ing but  the  calmest  friendship.  I  cannot  live  so  any  lon- 
ger, and  since  you  have  such  influence  with  your  sister,  I 
wish  you  to  use  it.  It  is  not  that  I  wish  you  harm  —  it  is 
only  that  I  cannot  live  without  Alice." 

'^  I  have  not  the  control  of  my  sister's  affections;  if  I 
had,  they  would  have  been  yours  long  ago ;  you  know  that, 
Alfred.  It  seems  to  me  that  your  course  of  proceeding  is 
more  worthy  of  her  dislike  than  her  love.  This  is  more 
the  act  of  a  traitor  than  an  honest  man  and  a  friend." 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  forger  who  talks  about  honesty.  The  devil 
in  the  pope's  robes  !  I  have  wooed  Alice  long  and  modestly, 
and  she  would  not  be  won.  Now  she  shall  take  her  choice 
between  a  brother  disgraced  and  in  prison,  or  a  husband 
whose  fault  is  that  he  has  loved  her  so  well  as  to  stoop  to 
falsehood  towards  a  friend,  rather  than  give  her  up." 
16 


182  THE    t-EN Axon's    SON. 

''  I  would  bear  the  severest  penalty  attached  to  my  error 
—  under  the  circumstances  I  will  not  call  it  crime — before 
I  would  even  make  known  to  her  youi  disgraceful  proposi- 
tion/' cried  Parke,  waving  his  hand  towards  the  door. 

"  Oh,  undoubtedly !  the  fcon  of  the  late  Hon.  Everard 
Madison,  convicted  of  forgery,  sentenced  to  ten  years  in  the 
penitentiary  —  beautifully  arrayed  in  striped  drawers  — 
hair  cropped  —  nobly  employed  in  pegging  shoes  under  the 
eye  of  an  overseer  ! " 

With  this  t"scinating  picture  held  up  before  the  eyes  of 
the  dismayed  young  geucleman,  he  made  a  mocking  bow, 
turned  on  his  heel  and  departed ;  leaving  his  whilom  friend 
to  ponder  upon  his  frightful  dilemma. 

It  was  the  ma^er-hand  of  art  which  painted  his  parting 
words.  Had  he  referred  to  a  lonely  cell,  where  no  ray  of 
light  was  permitted  to  enter,  where  years  must  be  worn 
away  in  solitary  confinement,  and  untold  pangs  of  anguish 
endured  in  silence,  Parke  would  have  brought  romance, 
proud  endurance,  sublime  fortitude  to  his  aid,  and  taken  a 
gloomy  comfort  in  looking  upon  himself  as  the  victim  to  a 
friend's  perfidy,  and  of  unparalleled  devotion  to  a  sister.  . 
Now  he  saw  himself  the  beau,  par-excellence,  of  Broad- 
way, the  elegant,  the  accomplished  Parke  Madison,  whose 
horses  were  the  finest,  whose  wines  the  oldest,  whose  dress 
the  most  fastidiously  gi-accful  of  all  the  admired  aristocrats 
of  New  York  —  he  saw  himself  in  a  convict's  dress  !  —  he 
turned  to  a  mirror  and  ran  his  long,  fair  fingers  through  his 
luxuriant  locks,  and    shuddered.      It  was   more  than   hu- 


THE    senator's    SON.  1B3 

man  nature  could  endure  !  There  was  no  dignity  —  no 
gloomy  grandeur  in  such  a  sacrifice.  Would  "  The  Pris- 
oner of  Chillon^'  be  an  object  of  noble  symyathy  if  pre- 
sented to  view  in  striped  drawers,  head  shaved,  sitting  on  a 
bench,  beating  a  lap  stone?  Parke  was  beautiful,  was 
youthful,  was  fond  of  pleasure,  was  dainty  in  all  his  tastes. 
His  fortitude  gave  way  —  he  sank  into  an  arm-chair  with  a 
groan  of  agony. 

He  had  fretted  the  night  away  in  contending  with  the 
passions  of  fear,  sorrow,  remorse,  anger.  The  first  gleam 
of  morning  found  him  exhausted,  but  with  his  mind  still 
undecided.  He  threw  himself  upon  his  bed  and  slept  heav- 
ily for  three  or  four  hours.  When  he  awoke  it  was  with 
that  weight  upon  the  breast  which  reminds  us  of  the  an- 
guish under  which  we  have  sank  to  slumber.  He  rang  for 
his  servant,  and  dispatched  a  brief  note  to  Alice,  begging 
her  to  come  to  him  at  once  and  without  any  other  person's 
knowledge.  Before  he  had  finished  dressing  she  was  await- 
ing him  in  the  adjoining  rooms.  She  scarcely  noticed  the 
air  of  voluptuous  luxury  which  pervaded  these  bachelor's 
apartments.  Sinking  into  an  arm-chair,  with  her  feet  ner- 
vously patting  the  carpet,  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  his  bed- 
room door,  she  passed  the  five  minutes  of  delay,  impatient 
to  learn  what  new  calamity  this  wilful  brother  had  brought 
upon  himself.  She  could  hardly  repress  a  cry  when  he 
came  into  the  apartment.  Late  nights,  late  mornings, 
brandy  and  cigars,  the  excitements  of  gambling  and  bet- 
ting, with  the  anguish  of  the  last  sleepless  hours,  had  nearly 


184  THE  senator's  son. 

erased  God's  inscriptions  from  that  once  eloquently  expres- 
sive countenance. 

"  Is  this  my  brother  ?  " 

No  wonder  she  asked  the  question  in  a  tone  of  touching 
reproach ;  for  the  eye  sunken  and  dim  with  lowering  lid, 
the  haggard  brow,  and  colorless  cheek,  were  these  the  ones 
her  mother  kissed  and  praised  ?  the  ones  she  regarded  with 
a  pride  than  was  only  less  than  the  fondness  which  softened 
it  ?  And  the  trembling  of  his  hands  !  A  fear  deadly  and 
dark  rushed  over  her  soul,  staggering  it  beneath  a  weight 
of  horror,  so  that  she  could  not  rise  from  her  seat  to  wel- 
come him,  nor  could  her  tongue  frame  a  syllable  in  response 
to  his  agitated  "  Good  morning,  Alice."  To  see  a  young 
man  of  twenty-two  so  wrecked  by  excess,  that  he  should 
come  from  his  morning  toilet,  trembling  as  with  the  infirm- 
ities of  four  score  years,  what  a  frightful  spectre  of  ap- 
proaching insanity  did  it  conjure  up  ! 

'^  Do  not  look  at  me  so,  Alice  !  '^  implored  Parke  in  a 
faint  voice,  and,  as  if  unable  longer  to  stand,  he  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"  Parke  Madison,"  said  she  at  last,  "  I  tell  you  truly," 
and  she  lifted  up  her  right  hand,  "you  are  upon  the  very 
verge  of  a  horrible  madness  and  death  !  you  totter  upon  the 
brink  of  delirium-tremens  !  be  warned  !  be  warned  ! " 

"  It  is  not  the  only  brink  upon  which  I  stand,"  he  re- 
plied, summoning  up  the  last  remains  of  his  sinking  cour- 
age, but  shivering  from  head  to  foot;  "  I  stand  upon  the 
precipice  of  disgrace,  and  when  I  fall  it  will  be  into  a  prison. 


THE    senator's    SON.  185 

There  is  a  chaDce  of  safety,  but  I  will  not  avail  myself  of 
it.     You  can  be  my  savior,  Alice,  but  you  shall  not  be.'' 

''  How  ?  go  on  with  your  story,  sir  I" 

"  Alice  !  for  Heaven's  sake  be  more  pitying  !  —  you 
have  no  conception  of  what  I  suffer.  It  is  mental  agony, 
not  physical  weakness,  that  shakes  me  so." 

"  It  is  both,"  she  said,  leaning  forward  in  her  chair  as  if 
desirous  to  hear  quickly  what  he  might  have  to  say. 

He  began  in  a  faltering  voice  and  explained  the  peril  of 
his  present  situation.  He  made  no  vain  attempt  to  extenu- 
ate the  extravagance  and  excess  which  had  led  him  into 
difficulty,  but  the  manner  of  the  forgery,  and  the  advantage 
which  was  taken  of  it,  he  spoke  of,  as  one  speaks  who  feels 
himself  wronged  by  a  friend. 

"  I  always  knew  that  Alfred  Clyde  was  rotten  at  heart," 
said  Alice ;  "  but  what  are  those  conditions  to  which  you  re- 
fer which  shall  ensure  your  safety  ?  " 

"  You  know  he  has  always  wished  you  to  become  his 
wife ;  —  but  I  do  not  ask  it,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  her  grow 
pale. 

She  arose  and  walked  several  times  across  the  floor. 

"  Why  do  you  not  fly  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  An  outcast  from  society,  disowning  my  own  name, 
penniless,  what  would  I  become  ?  Better  submit  to  a 
prison,  where,  at  least,  I  cannot  yield  to  my  besetting  sin  ! 
No,  I  will  not  fly  and  leave  disgrace  behind  only  to  rush 
into  a  fresh  ruin ;  but  you,  dear  Alice,  have  sufi'ered  enough 
for  me,  and  shall  suficr  no  more.  No  more  !  alas,  what  but 
16* 


186  THE  senator's  son. 

suffering  is  there  for  you  in  a  brother's  ignominy,  in  being 
pointed  at  as  a  forger's  sister?  Oh!  my  father  —  my 
mother  —  I  have  dishonored  your  names  upon  the  tomb- 
stone!" 

Alice  still  continued  her  walk  up  and  down  the  suite  of 
rooms.  Ever  as  she  reached  either  extremity,  she  was  con- 
fronted by  her  own  image  in  the  tali  mirror  —  a  pale, 
troubled  face  shadowed  by  the  bonnet  which  she  had  not 
taken  off,  hands  clasped  tightly  together,  eyes  which  seemed 
to  ask  their  perplexed  reflection  for  the  solution  of  a  prob- 
lem the  answer  to  which  must  still  be  —  '^sorrow" — re- 
solve it  as  they  might. 

It  was  at  least  an  hour  before  the  eyes  gave  her  the  re- 
quired answer;  then  she  stood  before  her  brother,  who  had 
followed  her  light  foim  with  an  eager,  inquiring  gaze, 

^'  It  is  not  to  save  our  father's  name  from  infamy,  nor 
you  from  being  an  outcast ;  it  is  not  that  I  fear  that  portion 
of  the  disgrace  which  will  fall  upon  me ;  it  is  not  even  to 
save  your  young  years  from  being  wasted  in  a  prison  work- 
shop, that  I  tell  you  that  I  am  resolved  to  marry  Alfred. 
All  these  things  have  their  influence,  of  course,  but  I  have 
already  suffered  so  much  on  your  account  that  I  do  not 
think  they  would  have  much  power,  but  /cannot  forget  the 
last  words  of  my  mother.  Ever  since  I  have  been  walking 
here  I  have  heard  that  dying  voice  —  so  precious,  so  be- 
loved, saying,  "  Be  faithful  —  love  one  another."  I  will  be 
faithful,  even  to  this  extremity.  I  will  do  the  utmost  that 
can  be  expected  from  a  sister;  and  if,  through  the  grace  of 


THE    senator's    SON.  187 

Grod,  my  love  be  rewarded  by  your  final  reform,  I  shall  be 
abundantly  repaid  for  every  sacrifice." 

"  It  shall  be  —  it  shall  be,  Alice.  Hear  me  swear  that 
henceforth " 

"Parke,  you  have  made  too  many  promises.  I  will 
not  hear  one ;  I  do  not  require  any ;  I  leave  the  matter 
with  your  conscience,  I  am  going  home  now ;  you  may  see 
Alfred  and  tell  him  that  I  wish  him  to  call  at  our  house 
this  evening." 

"After  all,  it  is  Alfred's  great  love  for  you  which  has 
caused  him  to  treat  me  so  illy,"  said  Parke,  whose  fault  it 
was  to  be  too  generous  and  forgiving. 

She  made  no  reply  except  the  tears  that  dropped  upon 
her  checks.  It  seemed  to  her  —  she  knew,  that  her  brother 
could  have  no  conception  of  the  trial  she  was  enduring  for 
his  sake.  He  went  down  stairs  with  her,  and  accompanied 
her  part  of  the  way  to  Mr.  Crawford's.  Here  they  parted  on 
the  street,  she  simply  remarking  that  she  wished  him  now 
to  pursue  such  a  course  as  his  judgment  and  conscience 
should  approve. 

She  spent  the  rest  of  that  dismal  March  day  in  a  vain 
attempt  to  become  reconciled  to  her  destiny.  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford was  going  out  for  the  evening  to  visit  with  a  small 
circle  of  friends ;  and  an  hour  after  tea,  Alice  was  left  alone 
to  receive  the  expected  call.  She  stood  up  as  she  heard 
Mr.  Clyde  come  in,  receiving  him  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  placed  her's,  which  was  icy 
cold,  in  his  clasp.     He  pressed  it  passionately,  as  if  he 


188  THE  senator's  son. 

would  in  that  tender  action  express  the  feelings  wbich  had 
prompted  his  conduct,  and  at  the  same  time  make  his  excuse. 

"  Dear  Miss  Madison/'  he  said,  leading  her  to  the  sofa, 
and  sitting  by  her  side ;  "  the  depth,  the  truth  of  my  love 
for  you,  is  my  only  apology  !  —  do  I  need  a  better  ? '' 

"  If  you  truly  loved  me,  Mr.  Clyde,  you  would  most  de- 
sire that  which  would  make  me  the  happiest.  Love  is  not 
selfish." 

He  almost  smiled  at  those  beautiful  rebuking  eyes. 

"Human  love  is  selfish,"  he  replied;  "I  know  not 
about  divine.  Show  me  the  man  upon  earth  who  doted  on 
a  beautiful  price  of  perfection  like  this,  and  yet  would  re- 
sign it,  when,  by  any  means  not  criminal,  he  could  make  it 
his  own,  and  you  will  show  me  a  triumph  of  self-denial 
which  I  have  not  yet  witnessed.  This  peerless  hand !  to 
claim  it  as  my  wife's  —  the  thought  is  enough  to  drive  all 
other  considerations  away  !  But  how  am  I  selfish  ?  what 
great  sacrifice  do  I  require  of  Parke,  or  you  ?  If  I  thought 
it  was  a  sacrifice  I  would  not  require  it ;  but  this  fright  will 
perhaps  recall  him  from  otherwise  certain  ruin ;  and  as  for 
you  —  why,  Alice,  what  more  of  devotion  can  you  ask  ?  If 
it  is  love  that  makes  a  woman  happy,  then  you  will  be  the 
happiest  of  women,  for  you  will  be  beloved  beyond  all  oth- 
ers of  your  sex.  If  I  did  not  think  that  I  could  make  you 
contented  —  that  after  you  are  my  wife  you  will  learn  to 
regard  me  with  tenderness,  I  would  say  no  more.  But  to 
give  you  up  —  impossible  !  That  would  be  requiring  of  me 
a  thousand  times  more  than  you  are  willing  to  do  for  a 


THE   senator's    SON.  189 

brother.  Give  you  up,  Alice,  after  you  have  once  said  that 
you  would  marry  me  ?  '* 

His  eyes  rested  upon  that  bowed  face  as  if  it  would  be 
an  impossibility  indeed  to  resign  that  fair  and  trembling 
young  creature. 

^^  Is  there  no  other  way,  then,  of  obtaining  your  mercy  ? 
Will  not  the  whole  of  my  fortune  buy  of  you  the  few  days* 
use  of  that  miserable  five  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

'^  There  is  none,"  he  answered  with  a  darkening  brow. 
^'  Alice,  you  are  to  be  my  wife,  and  it  will  be  better  for 
both  of  us  —  for  your  happiness  as  well  as  mine,  that  you 
betray  no  more  coldness  or  reluctance.  Come,"  he  added 
in  a  softer  voice,  "  let  us  talk  about  Parke,  and  what  we 
can  do  for  him,  to  protect  him  from  his  own  follies." 

He  proceeded  to  give  such  excellent  advice,  and  to  dis- 
play such  good  judgment  and  apparent  kindness,  that  Alice 
felt  almost  grateful.  She  wondered  why  a  man  of  such 
reason  and  discretion  had  not  exercised  a  more  powerful  in- 
fluence for  the  right  over  her  brother's  easily  governed 
mind.  Clyde  knew  very  well  that  hitherto  his  efforts  had 
secretly  been  the  other  way ;  but  now,  made  generous  by 
the  certainty  of  his  own  success,  he  was  willing  to  undo  the 
past  and  make,  if  possible,  some  amends  for  it. 

When  he  arose  to  go,  he  again  took  the  young  girl's  hand. 

"  Alice,  will  you  not  give  me  a  kiss  in  token  that  I  have 
now  some  small  portion  of  your  good  will  ?  You  will  soon 
be  my  wife ;  but  even  now  I  would  think  more  of  a  smile 
than  a  kiss." 


190  THE  senator's  son. 

She  held  up  her  face  with  what  she  endeavored  to  have 
a  cheerful  expression,  but  she  succeeded  only  in  wearing  a 
resigned  one ;  and  the  moment  he  had  left  the  apartment, 
she  brushed  her  cheek  with  an  involuntary  motion,  as  if 
ghe  would  have  brushed  away  the  unwelcome  kiss. 

*^  It  will  never  do  to  indulge  such  feeling,"  she  mur- 
mured, sorry  at  herself; "if  I  am  to  be  his  wife,  I  must 
school  my  thoughts  as  well  as  my  actions." 

So  pure  was  her  mind,  so  humble  her  religion,  that  from 
the  moment  she  was  pledged  to  Alfred  Clyde,  she  endeav- 
ored to  exercise  as  firm  a  control  over  her  very  dreams  as 
over  her  outward  behavior.  If  he  was  to  be  her  husband, 
she  must  not  even  think  any  ill  of  him.  Alas,  poor  child  ! 
what  a  hopeless  task  was  that,  when  the  more  intimately 
they  were  associated,  the  more  did  her  true  spirit  shrink 
from  the  hardness  and  selfishness  of  his. 

In  a  few  days,  Parke  Madison  had  disposed  of  his  bach 
elor's  hall  and  its  extravagant  furniture,  his  horses,  car- 
riages, jewelry;  dismissed  his  groom  and  valet  de  cliambrcj 
and  with  only  the  faithful  John  and  his  library  of  books  re- 
served from  his  dashing  establishment,  he  retired  to  the 
farm.  This  farm  belonged  to  Alice,  but  she  sold  it  to  him 
for  the  sum  of  five  dollars,  that  when  she  was  married  he 
might  still  have  something  from  which  to  secure  a  living, 
his  own  fortune  being  almost  dissipated.  This  Alfred  pro- 
posed himself;  and  it  was  through  his  energy  and  good 
management  that  the  sales  were  efi"ccted,  the  removal  made, 
and  Parke  once  more  somewhat  removed  from  temptation. 


THE  senator's  son.  191 

It  was  not  an  idle  life  that  Parke  now  proposed  to  spend. 
His  health  was  very  much  impaired,  but  what  strength  he 
had  left,  he  wished  to  expend  in  personal  oversight  of  his 
larijc  and  highly-cultivated  farm. 

He  boarded  in  the  family  of  the  man  who  worked  it  ob 
shares,  and  who  permitted  him  the  control  of  a  portion  of 
it.  Here  he  occupied  the  room  which  used  to  be  his  moth- 
er's, and  in  which  she  died.  After  a  day  of  activity  he 
would  return  to  this  hallowed  apartment,  and  with  books, 
music,  writing  letters,  and  rude  attempts  at  sculptury,  while 
away  the  now  brief  evenings. 

Alice's  engagement  was  to  be  short.  Alfred  desired  an 
early  day  to  be  appointed  for  their  marriage,  urging  the 
lenoth  of  time  for  which  he  had  been  a  suitor,  as  one  reason 
why  his  wishes  should  be  considered.  In  the  latter  part  of 
May  they  were  to  be  wedded.  Early  in  April,  Lucy  came 
to  stay  with  her  friend  until  after  the  ceremony.  She  was 
surprised  when  Alice  told  her  of  the  engagement,  for  she 
had  long  come  to  the  conclusion  that  if  her  friend  did  not 
dislike  Mr.  Clyde,  she  did  not  at  least  love  him ;  but  as  no 
confidence  was  given  her  any  further,  she  was  not  so  indel- 
icate as  to  hint  her  suspicions  or  to  force  her  way  to  the 
truth.  Besides  she  knew  of  no  compulsion,  and  could  frame 
no  device  why  that  good  and  beautiful  girl  should  cast  her- 
self away  upon  one  who  did  not  have  her  affection. 

Mrs.  Crawford  was  in  her  element  during  the  times  of 
preparation.  She  occasionally  rallied  her  adopted  daugh- 
ter's pale  cheeks  into  blushes,  but  she  had  not  discernment 


192  THE  senator's  son. 

to  discover  any  sadness  deeper  than  a  bride's  pensiveness 
beneath  that  quiet,  gentle  manner.  Even  Lucy  was  not 
certain  that  the  sadness  was  other  than  that  subdued  re- 
serve into  which  a  young  maiden  retires  who  is  so  soon  to 
change  her  position  in  life.  There  is  something  then  with 
which  a  young  girl  veils  her  hopes  and  fears  which  is  sacred 
from  the  acquaintances  of  friendship.  The  sadness  at  part- 
ing with  home  and  freedom,  the  doubt  when  thinking  of 
the  increased  care  and  importance  of  the  new  life,  the  hope 
of  untried  happiness,  keep  her  thoughts  in  the  sanctuary  of 
her  heart,  from  the  observation  of  others.  Alice  would 
sometimes  look  up  from  the  pretty  stitching  she  was  doing 
and  find  her  companion's  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face  with  a 
grave  and  dissatisfied  look,  when  she  would  smile  and  shake 
her  head  as  if  denying  the  mute  question. 

"  It  is  a  very  serious  matter,  this  getting  married,"  she 
would  say,  as  if  in  apology  for  her  own  abstracted  demeanor. 

Lucy  had  changed  not  less  than  Alice,  who  saw  more 
plainly  into  the  reason  of  her  melancholy  smile  and  droop- 
ing eye-lashes. 

"  How  much  misery  one  victim  of  intemperance  can 
bring  upon  the  hearts  of  others,"  was  her  thought.  ^'  Had 
Parke  not  ^  tarried  long  at  the  wine '  I  should  not  have  been 
this  unhappy  creature  that  I  am,  nor  poor  Lucy  be  pining 
her  life  away  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  stifle  an  unwise  passion, 
and  conceal  a  wild  regret." 

It  was  not  long  until  the  twenty-third  of  May.  Mrs. 
Crawford  had  wished  for  the  show  and  splendor  of  an  even 


THE   senator's    SON.  193 

ing  wedding.  The  fashion,  the  season  of  the  year,  and  the 
wishes  of  the  parties  were  against  her,  and  twelve  o'clock 
of  the  morning  was  the  hour  appointed.  The  day  was  as 
fresh  and  fair  and  beautiful  as  the  bride  herself — more 
fresh,  for  its  roses  were  of  the  brightest,  and  the  bride's 
cheeks  were  pale. 

Quite  a  party  of  friends,  among  them  Mrs.  Van  Diiyn, 
were  assembled  in  the  parlors,  where,  as  Mrs.  Crawford  had 
so  long  ago  determined,  there  was  no  lack  of  camclias. 
Lucy  and  Parke  were  the  attendants.  Finding  that  Parke 
had  once  more  abandoned  his  reckless  habits,  and  had  been 
living  industriously  in  the  country  for  some  time,  Mr.  Craw- 
ford had  invited  him  to  be  present  at  his  sister's  wedding. 

Colder  and  colder  grew  the  heart  of  Alice  in  her  bosom 
as  the  hour  drew  nigh  that  was  to  unite  her  with  one  whom 
she  did  not  and  could  not  love.  Her  fortitude  would  have 
given  entirely  away  had  she  not  been  encouraged  by  the 
improved  appearance  of  her  brother.  As  it  was,  although 
she  exercised  the  greatest  vigilance  over  herself,  she  knew 
that  Alfred  was  displeased  and  dissatisfied.  It  was  true 
that  he  need  not  then  have  compelled  the  marriage ;  but 
since  he  did  compel  it,  she  must  try  to  please  him,  lot 
his  injustice  be  great  as  it  would.  She  was  dressed,  even  to 
the  typical  vail;  the  bridal  party  stood  in  the  room  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs  ready  to  descend ;  when  in  arranging 
some  trifling  part  that  was  to  be  performed,  she  fretted  the 
already  moody  temper  cf  Alfred,  and  he  spake  to  her  sharp 
and  quick.     The  tyrant  was  already  beginning  to  manifest 

n 


194  THE  senator's  son. 

liimself.  A  thought  of  the  life  to  be  led  with  one  who 
could  speak  in  that  tone  in  the  very  hour  of  their  union, 
rolled  over  her  soul  like  a  cold  and  drenching  wave.  But 
she  smiled  when  she  saw  that  the  attendants  look  surprised, 
as  if  her  smile  was  to  excuse  his  hastiness,  and  taking 
Lucy's  arm  she  said  something  about  having  forgotten  to 
wear  her  pearl  bracelet,  and  drew  her  into  the  adjoining 
apartment.  Here  the  mastery  of  her  emotions  gave  way ; 
the  tears  rushed  forth  in  a  sudden  torrent ;  leaning  against 
the  wall,  she  shook  with  terrible  emotion. 

''  Lucy  !  Lucy  !  I  wish  that  I  were  dead  ! "  she  cried  in 
a  low  voice,  with  white  and  writhing  lips. 

Her  friend  stood,  frightened  and  pale,  not  knowing  what 
to  say  or  what  to  do. 

"  It  is  not  too  late,  dear  Alice,  if  you  feel  in  that  man- 
ner," she  ventured  to  suggest. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  too  late  !  there  is  no  help  for  me  now  — 
but  in  heaven.  Mother  —  mother  —  I  implore  your  aid! 
oh,  heavenly  Father,  I  know  thou  wilt  be  my  comforter.'^ 

She  sank  a  moment  upon  her  knees,  and  when  she  arose 
the  Fpasm  of  agony  had  passed.  A  holiness  and  sweetness 
came  over  her  demeanor,  and  with  this  look  she  went  out 
again  to  the  rest,  and  the  party  descended,  took  their  places 
before  the  hushed  gazers,  and  in  a  few  brief  moments  she 
was  the  wife  of  Alfred  Clyde.  Wife  !  strange,  sweet  name, 
when  heard  for  the  first  time  !  even  to  her  it  sounded  inex- 
pressibly soft  and  solemn.  The  looks  of  the  bride  were 
admired,  and  yet  people  were  sure  that  she  did  not  appear 


THE   senator's    SON.  195 

precisely  as  it  might  be  expected  a  bride  should  appear. 
Beautiful  she  always  was;  and  now  their  admiration  was 
mingled  with  a  wonder  at  the  exquisite  and  almost  saintly 
style  of  her  beauty.  She  did  not  seem  sorrowful  nor  glad, 
There  were  a  few  blushes,  but  no  tears.  In  her  aspect 
were  resignation  and  sweetness ;  in  the  faint  smile  she  gave 
her  husband  there  was  forgiveness.  He  had  recovered  from 
his  transient  anger,  and  strove  to  conceal  his  mortification 
by  a  show  of  reverence  and  devotion.  Passion  and  worship 
he  felt ;  yet  as  the  thought  had  lately  chafed  him  that  even 
a  husband  could  not  compel  answering  love,  and  that  a  wife 
might  be  his  as  a  marble  statue  was  his,  and  yet  he  have  no 
more  control  over  her  affections,  her  intangible  spirit,  her 
will,  than  over  the  moveless  beauty  of  the  statue :  as  this 
thought  had  forced  its  truth  upon  him,  for  the  first  time,  he 
had  hesitated  in  his  selfish  pursuit.  But  pshaw !  he  had 
no  idea  of  relinquishing  his  object,  for  such  a  trifle  as  her 
happiness,  or  even  his  own  future  comfort.  If  he  should 
tire  of  her,  he  could  neglect  her. 

Of  course  some  of  the  guests  said  that  the  groomsman 
would  soon  marry  the  bridesmaid;  and  others  said  not. 
Some,  that  she  was  a  noble  girl,  and  would  make  too  good 
a  wife  for  such  a  wild  young  man  ;  others,  that  Parke  Madi- 
son would  never  choose  a  poor  w  fe  with  nothing  but  her 
lady-like  manner  and  fine  looks  to  recommend  her;  and 
still  others,  that  a  woman  like  Lucy  Yac  Duyn  would  have 
a  great  influence  over  him  in  keeping  him  out  of  bad  hab- 
its, and  they  hoped  it  would  be  a  match.     "What  the  two 


196  THE  senator's  son. 

themselves  thought  was  known  only  to  their  own  bosoms^ 
and  certainly  not  spoken  to  each  other.  There  was  some 
embarrassment  in  Parke's  manner,  and  some  sadness  in 
Lucy's.  ''  After  all,  it  was  a  grand  wedding,  and  made  the 
same  stir  that  the  announcement  of  Miss  Madison's  mar- 
riage with  Mr.  Clyde  would  make  anywhere. 

The  two  were  gone  a  short  time  upon  their  bridal  tour. 

Upon  their  return  Mrs.  Crawford,  despite  the  lateness 
of  the  season,  gave  a  large  party.  None  of  the  elegantes 
had  left  town,  as  it  was  yet  June,  and  the  weather  con- 
tinued delightfully  moderate;  so  the  lady's  parlors  were 
thronged ;  and  as  she  looked  around  upon  the  gay  people 
and  beheld  the  attention  bestowed  upon  the  bride,  she  had 
only  to  wish  that  she  had  a  dozen  daughters  yet  to  be 
married. 

A  week  or  two  after,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clyde  went  to  the 
farm  to  spend  the  summer  with  Parke.  This  was  the  wish 
of  the  brother  and  sister ;  and  as  Alfred  was  for  the  present 
contented  wherever  his  wife  was,  he  made  no  objections. 
Alice  began  again  to  enjoy  the  society  of  Parke,  whose 
health  was  rapidly  mending,  and  whose  conversation  and 
thoughts  began  to  flow  in  nobler  channels.  His  gratitude 
and  love  to  her  made  him  tireless  in  her  service.  No  eff'ort 
was  too  great  that  was  rewarded  by  securing  any  pleasure  to 
her.  He  hung  upon  her  words  and  smiles  with  a  devotion 
that  called  forth  the  ridicule  and  wit  of  Alfred ;  and  at  the 
same  time  his  jealousy.  He  could  not  bear  to  be  rivaled 
even  by  a  brother,  and  his  vexation  so  often  made  itself  ap- 


THE  senator's  son.  197 

parent,  that  Alice  grew  afraid  to  express  her  affection  with 
the  old  freedom.  Parke  was  innocent  of  this,  for  she 
Minded  his  eyes  with  the  rosy  sweetness  of  her  temper,  and 
allowed  him  not  to  suspect  but  that  all  was  prosperous. 

Ilis  loving,  dependent  disposition  rested  itself  fondly 
upon  his  sister  and  contentedly  upon  her  husband's  judg- 
ment and  strength  of  mind.  The  summer  was  to  him  as 
happy  as  it  could  be  with  the  past  no  more  atoned  for. 

He  dreaded  the  approach  of  winter,  for  then  he  was  to 
be  left  alone  with  his  books,  dog,  gun,  and  sculpturing. 

Alfred  Clyde  and  his  wife  were  going  south  to  remain 
until  spring.  Alice  gave  her  brother  plenty  of  good  advice, 
of  love  and  prayers  at  parting  ;  she  was  afraid  to  leave  him 
so  long,  lest  in  the  meantime  some  temptation  should  occur 
too  strong  for  him  to  resist  unaided. 

They  spent  the  winter  in  Cincinnati,  and  St.  Louis, 
frhcre  Alfred  had  acquaintances  and  distant  relatives.  Al- 
ice would  have  been  very  happy  had  she  been  married  to  a 
man  whnni  she  resDectcd  and  loved ;  but  her  husband  gave 
n?r  J.  :rrnQ.i|  ';ha'2'?'=»  to  cultivate  either  her  affection  or  es- 
f ec  %..  Highly  displeased  at  not  meeting  with  the  warmth 
and  tenderness  which  he  could  only  have  expected  from  a 
willing  wife,  he  began  early  to  exercise  that  tyranny  which 
flourishes  and  grows  to  full  size  in  an  indolent,  self-loving, 
passionate,  luxurious  nature. 

Ahce  had  not  grown  rosy  or  brilliant  during  her  sojourn 
at  the  south.  When  they  returned  in  April,  her  air  was 
languid;  her  aerial  figure  seemed  to  have  acquired  more 
17* 


198  THE    SENATOtl's    SON. 

airiness  of  outline,  and  lier  step  had  a  weariness  in  it,  as  if 
mind  or  body  had  lost  its  youthful  buoyancy. 

Her  joy  at  finding  Parke  a  better  man  than  he  had  ever 
been  before  revived  for  awhile  her  drooping  spirits.  His 
health  was  excellent  —  his  affairs  prosperous  —  and  on  the 
anniversary  of  his  sister's  wedding-day  Lucy  and  himself 
were  to  be  married. 

Alice  hastened  to  the  cottage  to  see  Mrs.  Van  Duyn, 
and  to  wish  happiness  to  her  friend  and  soon-to-be  sister. 
What  a  soft  light  there  was  in  Lucy's  brown  eyes,  and  what 
a  changing  glow  upon  her  dazzling  cheeks  !  How  prettily 
she  blushed  —  how  brilliantly  she  smiled!  —  oh,  she  could 
answer  for  herself  now  whether  the  hope  was  not  stronger 
than  the  fear,  the  bliss  greater  than  the  sadness.  While 
she  busied  herself  with  adorning  her  not  too  costly  ward- 
robe, any  one  regarding  her  might  observe  the  hurried 
brightness  gathering  beneath  the  silken  lashes,  the  flitting 
color  of  her  cheeks  changing  with  the  beating  of  her  heart, 
and  sudden  gleams  of  joy  stealing  over  her  thoughtful  face. 

Oh,  it  almost  maddened  Alice  to  look  \.pon  her  and 
think  of  the  desolate,  dreary  waste  of  her  own  life.  But 
she  was  goodness  and  sweetness  personified ;  patiently  re- 
pressing the  bursting  regrets  which  she  could  not  but  feel, 
she  tried  to  be  happy  in  her  friend's  happiness,  and  to  find 
in  her  brother's  reform  a  consolation  for  her  own  trials. 
Contrasting  his  joyful  independence  with  a  convict's  doom, 
and  Lucy's  happiness  with  a  broken  heart,  she  thanked  Grod 
and  was  silent. 


THE    senator's    SON.  199 

"  0,  she  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother, 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich,  golden  shaft 
Hath  killed  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her !  " 

To  tlie  heart  of  Alice  Clyde  came  never  at  answer  to 
tli.is  impassioned  inquiry.  Loneliness  came  to  it,  and  yearn- 
ings which  drowned  themselves  in  tears,  wild  wishes,  unut- 
terable pangs !  for  the  most  part,  her  life  was  a  struggle 
against  her  own  lovely  nature,  to  bow  it  to  the  rude  will  v^f 
a  capricious  and  obstinate  ruler. 

How  lovely  a  picture  was  the  cottage  upon  the  wedding- 
morning  !  There  was  nothing  but  tasteful  simplicity.  The 
roses  breathed  their  fragrant  congratulations,  and  the  birds 
warbled  the  bridal  anthems.  In  Parke's  frank  and  beam- 
ing face  and  proud  carriage  there  remained  no  trace  of 
former  sin.  One  there  was  though  who  could  not  forget, 
and  who  trembled  with  secret  forebodings.  What  mother 
ever  gave  a  beloved  daughter  into  the  care  of  another,  for 
weal  or  woe,  without  some  trembling  ?  Mrs.  Van  Duyn  could 
not  banish  the  reluctance  she  felt.  She  loved  Parke  as  a 
son,  yet  she  knew  the  weaknesses  of  his  character;  and  had 
they  obeyed  her  wishes  they  would  have  waited  another 
year  before  they  were  united.  She  left  a  tear  on  the  bride's 
check  when  she  kissed  her ;  and  in  the  look  she  gave  her 
daughter's  husband  as  she  grasped  his  hand,  she  seemed  to 
implore  of  him  a  promise  to  bring  no  shame  or  sorrow  upon 
that  innocent  brow. 


200  THE  senator's  son. 

"  She  is  my  wife/'  said  Parke,  in  a  tone  deep  with  feel- 
ing, as  Alice  came  up  to  him,  and  they  stood  a  moment 
apart  from  the  rest ;  "  my  wife  and  I  owe  this  happiness 
all  to  you.  Oh,  my  sister,  even  in  the  lowest  depths  of 
•my  degradation  how  I  loved  that  noble  girl.  Her  perfec- 
tions only  made  my  faults  the  blacker,  I  saw  that  she  loved 
me,  unworthy  as  I  was,  that  she  pitied  while  she  loved,  and 
faded  beneath  a  sorrowful  regret.  I  longed  to  throw  my- 
self upon  her  compassion,  and  beg  her  to  save  me  from  my- 
self. But  I  knew  that  if  you,  if  my  mother,  could  not 
restrain  me,  that  even  Lucy  could  not,  and  I  dared  not  ap- 
proach her  with  the  mantle  of  my  guilt  upon  me.  Through 
you,  dearest  Alice,  I  have  been  able  to  come  to  lier,  saved 
and  redeemed,  with  the  humble  offering  of  my  love ;  and 
now  she  is  mine !  You  have  made  two  happy  hearts  — 
hearts  brimming  over  with  happiness.  God  forever  bless 
you!" 

Could  Alice  regret  tlie  offering  she  had  made  of  herself? 
There  sat  her  husband  moodily  regarding  her,  as  if  invent- 
ing what  new  torture  he  should  inflict  upon  the  patient  soul 
of  the  woman  whose  fault  and  injury  was,  that  what  force, 
tyranny,  pride,  and  ill-humor  demanded,  her  shrinking 
spirit  did  not  give.  She  had  never  failed  in  becoming  re- 
spect or  in  silent  endurance.  But  endurance  was  not  what 
he  wanted  in  a  wife.  He  wanted  sympathy;  and  more,  he 
wanted  her  soul  to  be  in  subjection  to  his  will.  No  matter ; 
she  was  his  own )  and  she  should  feel  his  power  to  the  in- 
most fibre  of  her  f quivering  heart.  He  smiled  at  the  thought. 


THE   senator's   SON.  201 

As  she  turned  from  Parke's  fervent  blessing,  she  met  that 
smile,  sinister  and  threatening. 

i(  JSo  !  —  no  !  I  will  regret  nothing,"  she  cried  silently. 
"  Surely  I  can  find  some  recompense  in  the  joy  of  others, 
and  after  a  time  it  may  be  that  unresisting  gentleness  will 
soothe  this  tiger  into  less  ferocious  moods." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Madison  were  soon  established  in  the  old 
country-house.  He  now  had  half  the  farm  under  his  own 
management.  A  comfortable  house  was  erected  for  his 
tenant,  who  boarded  all  the  men  employed.  An  excellent 
superintendent  of  the  kitchen  and  dairy  relieved  Lucy  from 
all  care  as  to  those  matters.  With  long  visits  from  little 
Katy  and  short  ones  from  her  mother,  she  grew  to  be  so 
contented  in  her  own  home,  as  to  lose  those  pinings  after 
the  mother-home  which  disturb  a  young  wife's  joy. 

Mr.  Clyde  purchased  an  elegant  residence  in  the  city, 
and  surrounded  himself  and  wife  with  a  golden  halo  of 
splendor.  Although  he  was  so  indolent,  there  was  a 
strength  and  power  of  his  mind  which  could  not  be  smoth- 
ered in  ease,  and  this  directed  itself  to  the  difficult  study  of 
how  he  could  most  delight  his  senses  and  gratify  his  luxuri- 
ous tastes  with  the  least  exertion,  and  to  make  the  greatest 
impression  upon  others.  Art  and  science,  genius  and  beauty, 
were  called  into  requisition  to  give  a  finish  to  his  heartless 
epicureanism.  The  more  he  lapped  it  in  the  sensuous  soft- 
ness of  indulgence,  the  harder  did  his  soul  become.  The 
tact,  judgment,  and  intrigue  of  his  character,  which  applied 
to  the  lever  of  some  noble  purpose  might  have  lifted  him 


202  THE  senator's  son. 

into  enviable  fame,  were  dedicated  to  giving  a  polish  and  cer- 
tain distinction  to  his  known  extravagance  of  living.  To  be 
the  slave  of  this  self-lover  was  Alice's  fate.  As  a  slave,  he 
would  not  set  a  value  upon  her,  for  she  was  something  upon 
which  to  exercise  his  refined  tyranny;  further  than  that, 
he  hated  her.  Like  the  devotional  nun,  who  binds  the 
thorny  girdle  over  her  bleeding  heart,  and  conceals  it  with 
a  garment  of  white,  she  concealed  her  sufferings  under  a 
calm  and  sweet  demeanor. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Three  years  of  prosperity  rolled  over  the  dwellers  at 
the  farm.  A  baby,  with  flaxen  ringlets  and  blue  eyes,  sat 
upon  Lucy's  knee,  or  tottered  with  mighty  baby  ambition 
across  the  floor.  The  whilom  library  was  turned  into  a 
nursery,  where  sat  Lucy,  one  October  evening,  in  a  little, 
low  rocking  chair,  having  a  great  frolic  with  the  darling 
Carrie.  Carrie,  of  course,  was  the  baby ;  and  by  the  way, 
she  had  gained  her  name  through  much  tribulation.  The 
mother  wanted  her  called  Katy,  after  her  own  mother,  and 
sister  Katy  of  the  golden  curls.  The  father  said  the  name 
was  too  German,  and  Alice  must  the  little  one  be  called. 
But  Alice  wanted  no  child  named  after  her,  lest,  as  she  said 
with  a  smile  and  sigh,  it  should  not  be  a  gift  which  would 
bring  happiness.  Finally,  an  old  bachelor,  who  lived  alone 
on  an  adjoining  farm,  proposed  that  if  they  would  call  the 
pretty  creature  Caroline,  he  would  stand  god-father,  and 
make  an  hc.iress  of  the  wee  lady  by  deeding  her  a  city  lot. 

Every  one  liked  the  old  bachelor,  and  suspected  that 


204  THE  senator's  son. 

Caroline  was  the  name  of  his  lady-love  who  died  in  her 
youth,  leaving  him  a  faithful  mourner  and  a  solitary  man. 
They  would  have  pleased  him  with  gratifying  his  wish  with- 
out the  offer  of  the  city-lot ;  but  as  he  was  rich,  and  had 
no  children  of  his  own,  they  allowed  the  unconscious  baby 
to  accept  his  gift.  No  attention  was  paid  to  Miss  Katy's 
suggestion  that  she  should  be  called  Olive  Olivia ;  and  at 
last,  after  all  these  important  undecisionS;  she  rested  safe 
with  the  noble  appellation  of  Caroline^  abridged  for  short 
and  sweet  to  Carrie. 

^'  Will  you  have  your  tea  served  now,  Madam  ?  "  asked 
the  house-keeper,  looking  in  good-naturedly  at  the  gay 
mother. 

"  No,  Hester,  not  until  Mr.  Madison  comes  home ;  he 
said  he  should  be  back  by  half-past  seven." 

Hester  shut  the  door,  and  Lucy  went  on  with  her  frol- 
icking. 

''Now,  baby,  now  —  say  papa!    look  at  mother 

pa  —  pa  ! " 

But  baby  was  pulling  at  mamma's  dress  and  would  say 
nothing. 

"  No,  lady  Carrie,  you  are  not  old  enough  to  wear  jewels 
yet ;  let  the  brooch  be.     Now  —  pa  -  pa  ! " 

'' Ga !  Ga!"  said  lady  Carrie,  and  laughed  at  her  tri- 
umph in  achieving  such  a  wonderful  speech. 

^'  You  little  darling !  if  father  had  only  heard  that ! 
will  Carrie  say  '  papa'  when  he  comes  home?  pa -pa." 

^'  Ga !  Ga!"  repeated  the  little  genius;  and  if  she  had 


THE   senator's   SON.  205 

been  the  "  fairy  who  spoke  pearls,"  her  motlier  could  not 
liave  been  more  delighted.  She  half  smothered  her  with 
kisses. 

Then  they  had  such  a  play-spell !  Baby's  fat  fingers 
would  dive  into  mamma's  hair,  and  pull  down  one  of  its 
shining  braids ;  then  mamma  would  give  a  pretended,  pretty 
cry,  wdiich  would  set  the  baby  into  an  extasy.  Then  the 
dimpled  hands  would  be  made  willing  prisoners,  and  patted 
together  in  tune  with  the  wonderful  ditty  of 

•'  Rock-a-by,  baby,  upon  the  tree-top." 

Next  the  chubby  feet  were  made  to  illustrate  the  ballad  of 

*'  One  foot  up  and  one  foot  down  — 
That  is  the  way  to  London-town." 

Presently  Carrie  grew  tired  of  play;  when  she  had  had  her 
supper,  been  attired  in  her  night-gown,  and  fell  to  sleep  in 
her  pretty  crib,  it  was  eight  o'clock. 

Hester  again  presented  herself  at  the  door,  and  told 
Mrs.  Madison  she  had  better  have  her  tea,  for  more  likely 
than  not,  Mr.  Madison  would  not  be  at  home  that  night. 

"  John's  at  home  an  hour  ago,  and  he  says  there's  go- 
ing to  be  great  doings  with  their  speeches  and  processions ; 
and  some  of  Mr.  Madison's  friends  were  going  to  have  a 
supper  at  the  Astor,  and  their  candidate  for  Governor  was 
going  to  be  there  and  make  a  speech." 

"  Oh  !  I  hope  he  will  not  stay  ! "  was  the  young  wife's 
thoughts,  as  a  thrill  of  apprehension  ran  through  her. 

It  was  a  time  of  great  political  excitement.  Parke, 
18 


206  THE  senator's  son. 

now  developed  into  the  full  grown  man,  witli  established 
views  and  active  purposes,  was  not  contented  with  devoting 
all  his  energies,  talents,  and  education  to  farming.  Though 
his  farm  was  a  model,  exhibiting  all  the  latest  improve- 
ments, and  cultivated  upon  scientific  principles ;  though  it 
was  the  admiration  of  the  country  around,  and  though  it 
brought  him  an  income  amply  sufficient  for  a  generous  and 
elegant  way  of  living,  he  was  not  content.  lie  had  plenty 
of  leisure,  since  he  was  only  the  head,  not  the  hands,  of  his 
farm,  to  turn  his  attention  to  other  pursuits ;  and  the  Sen- 
ator's son,  following  in  the  path  marked  out  by  his  father, 
was  fast  becoming  ambitious  of  political  distinction. 

His  wife  had  a  dread  of  this.  To  her,  who  had  always 
lived  in  the  country,  there  seemed  no  life  so  free,  so  happy, 
so  virtuous,  so  healthy  as  country-life ;  no  occupation  so 
pleasant  as  the  cultivation  of  land.  She  did  not  see  how 
there  could  be  any  tameness,  any  want  of  variety  in  avoca- 
tions which  brought  one  continually  to  observe  the  changes 
and  endless  industry  of  nature.  The  budding  of  the  tree, 
the  ripening  of  its  fruit,  the  gathering  it  into  the  winter- 
stores —  the  springing  of  the  grain,  the  forming  of  the 
heads,  the  harvesting,  the  thrashing  out,  the  carrying  to  the 
mill  —  all  the  seasons  of  the  year  were  full  of  beauty  and 
mterest  to  her.  The  blessing  of  the  deep,  warm  snow, 
clothing  the  planted  wheat,  or  the  evil  of  the  biting  frost 
killing  it  in  its  tender  infancy,  were  things  which  called  for 
lier  gentle  sympathy.  She  felt  a  grateful  solicitude  for  the 
comfort  of  the  sleek  cows  so  richly  contributing  their  flow- 


THE   senator's   SON.  207 

ing  bounties  to  the  universal  plenty.     She  had  a  tender 
aflPection  for  the  pretty  lambs,  a  kind  care  for  the  broods  of 
chi-ekens,  a  gi-eat  respect  for  the  sturdy  oxen,  and  a  love  for 
the  noble  horses.    Her  heart  and  mind  expanded  while  con- 
templating the  broad  stretch  of  land  with  whose  features 
and  peculiarities  she  had  become  as  familiar  as  with  those 
of  a  fiiiend.     She  knew  what  soil  was  greedy  for  food,  what 
tired  with  successive  years  of  labor,  what  thirsted  for  more 
drink  from  the  abundant  stream,  and  what  plead  for  relief 
from  its  too  bountiful  supply.     She  knew  what  ground  had 
a  fancy  for  feeding,  with  summer  luxuries  of  clover-blos- 
soms, the  cattle  —  and  what  was  willing  to  devote  the  warm 
weather  to  growing  a  golden  store  of  corn  for  their  winter 
uses.     The  earth  to  her  personified  one  who  conferred  great 
favors  and  required  a  few  in  return.     The  plums  had  a  dul- 
cet voice,  beseeching  aid  to  free  themselves  from  the  tor- 
menting curculio;    even  the  cucumbers  looked  coolly  up 
and  pointed  to  their  yellow-backed  destroyers. 

The  peas  reached  out  their  arms  for  ladders  to  aid  their 
climbing  —  the  peaches  turned  their  crimson  cheeks  lov- 
ingly towards  her,  and  the  rosy  apples  nodded  and  blushed 
as  if  saying  —  "we  grow  for  you!"  And  that  grove  of 
maples  !  was  there  ever  a  moment  when  it  was  not  useful 
and  beautiful  ?  With  the  first  sunshining  days  of  March, 
their  veins,  overflowing  with  sweetness,  were  yielded  by  the 
stately  trees  to  the  farmer's  lancet.  Then  came  the  time 
for  a  woodland  frolic  with  her ;  while  the  farmer  and  his 
boys  went  about  among  the  buckets,  emptying  the  contents 


208  THE  senator's  son. 

of  each  into  a  common  receptacle  in  the  shape  of  a  hogs- 
head, and  from  thence  replenish  the  singing  kettles,  she 
loved  to  find  her  a  seat  on  some  inverted  trough  under  a 
tree  close  by.  The  blazing  fire,  the  bubbling  cauldron,  the 
mystic  smoke,  the  grim  workmen,  were  objects  which  her 
fancy  did  not  hesitate  to  turn  mU)  sorcery  and  its  accompa- 
niments, or  at  least  into  the  romance  of  gyp=eying.  She  took 
a  curious  interest  in  the  skilful  abstraction  of  the  natural 
contents  of  an  egg-shell,  and  the  filling  of  the  same  with  su- 
gar-wax ;  and  delighted  in  bringing  her  husband's  talents  at 
sculpture,  to  the  carving  of  various  fancifu]  hollows  in  pieces 
of  wood,  for  the  moulding  of  this  wax  into  tempting  cakes 
for  Kitty  and  her  other  juvenile  visitors.  A  bit  of  frozen 
snow  hid  away  in  a  hollow  or  corner  of  a  fence  was  eagerly 
searched  for,  to  make  a  moulding-board,  upon  whose  cold 
surface  the  syrup  might  quickly  obtain  the  wished-for 
toughness.  After  the  sugar-making  days  were  over,  she 
could  mark  from  the  windows  of  her  room,  the  soft  green 
gradually  breaking  from  the  swelled  buds ;  and  when  the 
days  grew  oppressive  with  heat,  there  were  the  full  grown 
leaves,  offering  their  fair  shelter  and  murmuring  of  refresh- 
ment to  be  found  in  the  shadowy  alleys  which  they  roofed. 
In  autumn  the  grove  was  past  all  description  beautiful  —  a 
tossing,  waving  sea  of  splendor,  which  every  breeze  changed 
in  aspect  and  color,  lifting  up  sprays  of  crimson,  edged  with 
scarlet,  dashing  down  billows  of  gold  capped  with  purple 
and  green.  Even  winter  could  not  disrobe  the  maples  of 
their  charm,  for  the  sprites  came  down  from  the  mystic 


209 


north  on  silent  nights,  and  behold  !  in  the  morning  sun- 
shine, there  they  stood,  so  many  crystal  towers,  of  an  ar- 
chitecture rivaling  the  Grothic,  the  pride  of  man ;  delicate 
in  structure  and  profusely  ornamented  from  column  to  spire 
with  glittering  yet  chaste  decorations. 

Yes  !  Lucy  found  enough  in  country-life  to  interest,  in- 
struct, and  ennoble.  She  thought  that  no  one  could  accuse 
her  husband  of  an  inactive  or  useless  existence  if  he  em- 
ployed it  only  in  such  occupations  as  their  present  position 
suggested.  She  had  reason  to  dread  his  being  drawn  into 
political  whirlpools.  She  was  suspicious  of  the  strength  of 
his  resolutions;  and  had  no  cause  to  think  but  that  the 
country  would  be  just  as  safe  if  her  husband  took  no  part 
in  its  debates.  Feverish,  unhealthy,  and  dangerous  seemed 
to  her  the  ambition  which  was  coming  over  him ;  the  coun- 
try was  safer  without  him  than  he  was  with  it.  Therefore, 
by  all  the  tact  and  power  of  affection,  she  endeavored  to  di- 
vert his  mind  from  its  tendencies.  But  Parke  was  deter- 
mined not  to  be  satisfied  with  a  wife,  a  baby,  a  home,  and 
a  farm.  Politics  seem  in  this  country  frequently  to  take 
the  shape  of  a  fever,  which  disturbs  the  quiet  operations  of 
the  physical  and  mental  powers,  exciting  the  brain  to  a  kind 
of  delirium  which  for  the  time  destroys  its  finely-balanced 
qualities.  Mental  blindness ;  a  strange  inability  to  discern 
truth  from  falsehood ;  an  insane  conception  that  our  insti- 
tutions are  tottering  into  the  gulf  of  their  opponent's  treach- 
ery, and  will  soon  fall  unless  they  rush  to  the  rescue  and 
make  columns  of  support  out  of  themselves ;  an  itching  at 
18* 


210  THE    SENATOR  S    SON. 

their  fingers-ends  to  dabble  in  the  spoils,  and  a  burning  de- 
sire for  office,  are  some  of  the  symptoms  apparent  in  many 
of  the  victims  of  this  disease. 

Parke  Madison  had  not  the  fever  in  such  a  violent  de- 
gree. He  did  not  care  about  the  emoluments,  nor  think 
the  sudden  dissolution  of  the  Union  at  hand;  but  there 
were  some  principles  he  desired  to  see  advocated,  some  more 
he  wished  to  uphold )  and  as  he  felt  himself  competent  to 
speak  on  certain  questions,  he  was  bound  to  make  himself 
heard.  The  honor  paid  to  the  talents  of  his  father  encour- 
aged him  to  believe  that  he  could  achieve  eminence  in  tlie 
same  path. 

Upon  the  day  which  is  introduced  in  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter,  he  had  .gone  to  New  York  to  join  his  party  in 
a  great  outbreak  of  enthusiasm ;  he  spoke,  and  was  loudly 
applauded;  the  excitement  of  the  dny  was  followed  by  a 
supper  given  by  the  leaders  to  one  of  the  great  men,  and 
to  which  Mr.  Madison  of  course  must  remain. 

The  supper  at  the  Astor  was  faultless,  the  wines  were 
guch  as  great  men  may  drink  without  doing  injustice  to 
their  taste,  the  remarks  were  profound,  disinterested,  and 
logical.  Under  the  influence  of  the  champagne  and  the 
speeches  the  country  came  very  near  being  saved  !  But, 
alas,  for  one  of  its  eloquent  friends  I  Parke  Madison,  the 
generous,  the  witty,  the  earnest,  the  well-meaning,  could 
control  others  better  than  he  could  himself.  Forever  striv- 
ing after  the  right,  and  forever  falling !  That  fatal  weak- 
ness of  resolution  broke  down  this  evening  as  it  had  done  in 


THE    senator's    SON.  211 

tlajs  gone  by.  Not  more  surely  will  a  moth  always  flutter 
into  destruction  when  a  lamp  is  by,  than  he  would  be 
tempted  to  excess  by  a  scene  like  this.  He  knew  it  before 
be  placed  himself  in  the  way  of  temptation ;  but  his  ardent 
temperament  was  already  excited  beyond  prudence  by  the 
events  of  the  day.  He  attended  the  feast  given  to  the  great 
man,  and  became  intoxicated  in  his  honor. 

Lucy  followed  the  suggestion  of  her  house-keeper,  and 
drank  her  tea,  but  it  was  with  very  little  relish.  She  then 
returned  to  a  charming  employment,  which  was  that  of 
sketching  little  Carrie  as  she  lay  asleep  in  her  crib.  She 
was  intending  to  surprise  Parke  with  a  birth-day  present  of 
the  picture,  painted  on  ivory,  and  handsomely  set.  The 
dimpled  arm  tossed  up  beside  the  rosy  cheeks,  the  golden 
lashes,  and  the  still  more  golden  curls,  the  pouting,  parted 
lips,  made  a  fine  subject  for  the  mother  artist.  She  drew 
the  outlines  and  drapery,  after  which  she  laid  her  work 
aside  in  order  to  do  the  coloring  by  the  nicer  light  of  day. 
It  was  the  usual  hour  of  retiring ;  she  no  longer  expected 
her  husband  that  night,  but  she  could  not  go  to  bed  as  long 
as  there  was  a  possibility  of  his  returning.  She  hemmed  a 
little  on  a  piece  of  cambric,  she  played  a  short  time  on  her 
guitar,  she  tried  to  get  interested  in  a  book,  but  her  mind 
was  uneasy,  and  she  could  not  amuse  it.  At  twelve  o'clock, 
\weary  but  nervous,  she  retired  to  short  slumbers  and  dis- 
turbing dreams.  It  was  her  first  night  of  watching  for  a 
dissipated  husband,  but  it  was  not  her  last. 

At  noon,  of  the  foUcv^ing  day,  Mr.  Madison  came  home. 


212  THE  senator's  son. 

He  thoiiglit  that  bis  secret  Wcas  safe  from  lils  ^vife.  He 
greeted  her  gayly,  and  with  many  excuses  for  not  sending 
her  word  that  he  should  remain  in  town  over  night,  he 
kissed  Carrie,  sat  her  upon  his  knee,  and  proceeded  to  as- 
tonish and  deh'ght  her  with  the  gift  of  her  first  doll-baby. 
But  the  quick  eye  of  affection  detected  the  lurking  shame  in 
his  glance,  its  ear  pined  with  the  nervous  hastiness  of  the 
first  greeting ;  and  in  his  kiss,  despite  of  the  frequent  con- 
fection he  had  been  eating,  remained  the  feverish  complaint 
of  an  ill-used  stomach.  Lucy  kept  her  wretched  discovery 
to  herself,  and  abated  nothing  of  her  gentle  welcome.  She 
would  not  humble  the  pride  of  her  husband,  by  allowing 
him  to  know  that  she  was  conscious  of  his  error.  But  when 
she  found  him  more  absorbed  than  ever  in  politics,  and  bent 
upon  walking  right  into  the  net  —  that  he  was  restless  until 
the  next  day  came  for  a  public  excitement,  and  that  he 
spent  more  than  half  of  his  time  in  the  city,  she  was 
obliged  to  remonstrate.  Such  remonstrance  might  rather 
be  called  the  very  gentleness  of  entreaty.  It  was  with 
threads  of  silver  and  gold  that  she  endeavored  to  keep  him 
within  the  sacred  circle  of  home,  where  the  evil  genii  that 
surrounded  him  in  the  outer  air  could  not  intrude. 

The  worm  of  the  still,  when  its  eye  is  once  fastened  upon 
a  victim,  must  exercise  a  fascination  more  alluring  than  the 
dreaded  enchantments  of  the  rattle-snake.  Else  how  could 
it  draw  Parke  Madison,  held  back  as  he  was  by  past  expe- 
rience, by  a  wife  like  Lucy,  a  sister  like  Alice ;  how  could  it 


THE   senator's   SON.  213 

draw  him  from  the  holiness  of  his  hearth-stone,  downwards 
to  the  old  desperation  of  excess  ? 

Upon  that  birthday,  when  Lucy  designed  to  surprise 
him  with  the  exquisitely-finished  portrait  of  Carrie  asleep, 
he  came  home,  for  the  first  time,  in  a  disgraceful  condition. 
Hitherto  he  had  carefully  remained  away  until  in  a  fit  state 
to  return  to  his  family.  It  happened  that  Mrs.  Madison 
had  company.  Mrs.  Van  Duyn  was  out,  with  an  old  friend 
from  Philadelphia,  a  lady  of  such  mind  and  attainments  as 
secured  for  her  the  love  and  respect  of  whatever  circle  she 
adorned  with  her  presence.  She  had  always  made  a  pet  of 
Lucy,  who,  in  her  girlhood,  had  once  or  twice  visited  her 
in  her  own  city.  Now  she  had  come  to  see  what  kind  of  a 
home  the  fair  girl  had  to  boast  of,  what  kind  of  a  husband, 
and  what  kind  of  a  baby ;  for  she  had  heard  a  great  deal 
about  all  of  these,  but  she  had  not  beheld  with  her  own 
eyes  the  prosperity  of  this  beautiful  branch  of  the  father- 
land vine. 

When  they  first  arrived  Mr.  Madison  was  not  at  home. 
Lucy  gave  them  a  cheerful  welcome.  There  was  not  even  a 
shadow  upon  her  brow  that  day,  for  Parke  had  been  so  good 
for  the  past  week,  and  she  had  so  pleased  herself  with  thoughts 
of  the  present  she  had  as  a  surprise  for  him,  that  her  brown 
eyes  were  seldom  brighter,  or  her  cheeks  more  glowing. 

"  I  think  you  have  chanced  here  to  keep  Parke's  birth- 
day, she  said,  as  she  drew  chairs  for  them  close  to  the  grate 
in  the  large  parlor. 


^^k 

■»- 


214  THE  senator's  son. 

It  was  a  cold  day  for  October,  and  they  had  rode  from 
Mrs.  Yan  Duyn's  on  the  other  side  of  New  York. 

"  Dear  mother,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you ;  why  didn't 
you  bring  Katy  or  Willy  with  you  ?  too  cold !  but  they 
would  have  been  so  delighted  with  Carrie,  now  that  she  can 
run  alone.  It  is  an  unexpected  happiness  to  have  you  for  a 
guest,  ]\Irs.  Smythc ;  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  com- 
ing. I  wish  Mr.  Madison  was  at  home.  But  he  will  be, 
before  tea;  and  of  course  you  will  not  stay  less  than  a 
week,  so  a  few  hours  will  be  no  great  robbery." 

How  musically  the  tongue  of  the  young  wife  ran  on. 
The  mother  and  friend  smiled  at  each  other  to  witness  her 
fine  spirits.  As  soon  as  they  were  warmed,  and  had  par- 
taken of  the  refreshments  welcome  after  their  chilly  ride, 
Margery,  the  maid,  was  sent  after  Carrie,  who  was  taking 
her  afternoon  siesta.  Margery  led  her  into  the  parlor  with 
triumph,  walking  in  her  own  tiny  shoes,  and  not  tumbling 
down  once  all  tlie  immense  distance  from  the  door  to  her 
mamma's  arms. 

"  This  only  'leven  months  old,"  the  maid  informed  Mrs. 
Smythc,  who,  eager  as  she  was  to  get  the  little  creature  on 
her  lap,  must  wait  for  '  grand-ma'  to  have  done  with  her 
caresess. 

"  Aye  !  she's  not  a  year  old  yet,  and  she  walks,  and 
says  papa,  and  docs  a  thousand  such  pretty  things.  Don't 
you  think,  Mrs.  Smythc,  that  she  is  the  greatest  baby  of  the 
age?" 

''  I  have  not  had  very  extensive  opportunities  for  judg- 


THE    senator's    SON.  215 

ing,"  replied  tliat  lady  with  her  genial  smile,  ''^  I  am  not 
acquainted  with  over  thirty  of  her  size^  but  I  think  that  she 
compares  ftivorably  with  the  most  of  them.  Come  here, 
little  one !  Carrie  is  your  name  ?  let  me  look  at  you  — 
soft,  fine  hair,  curling  up  like  golden  grape-tendrils  around 
your  head  —  pure  complexion  —  clear,  full,  violet  eyes  — 
those  -Lire  father's  eyes,  are  they  not  ?  —  a  mouth  so  beauti- 
ful in  its  rosiness  that  I  cannot  tell  yet  whether  it  will  be  a 
beauty's  mouth  or  not  —  mother's  neck,  slender  and  peer- 
less, as  if  the  '  blood  of  all  the  Howards'  had  taught  it  its 
queenly  mould  —  yes.  Madam  Madison,  you  may  be  for- 
given for  pride  in  your  baby's  looks.  But  as  for  her  talk- 
ing and  walking,  she  isn't  a  bit  more  precocious  than  the 
rest  of  the  thirty ;  and  you  do  not  want  to  be,  do  you,  Car- 
rie ?  You  do  not  want  to  die  of  smartness  in  your  in- 
fancy? nor  to  be  a  little  wonder,  in  order  to  grow  up  a 
great  dunce  ? ''  Probably  Carrie  did  not,  for  she  shook  her 
head  and  laughed.  "  That  is  right.  You  shall  not  be  if  I 
can  help  it.  You  shall  know  nothing  for  a  good  while  yet 
except  to  love  papa,  mamma,  and  sugar-plums.  Here  is  a 
sucar-plum  with  which  to  engage  your  affections;  it  has 
hidden  itself  in  the  depths  of  my  pocket  as  if  on  purpose  for 
this  occasion.  Do  not  look  so  gravely,  Mrs.  Madison,  there 
is  nothing  poison  in  this  confection ;  it  is  pure  sweet  and 
will  do  no  harm." 

"  I  shall  be  jealous,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Duyn,  "  of  my 
i;r;;nd-motherly  rights,  if  Carrie  is  to  take  to  you  so  cou- 
tcuccdly.      She  is  perched  on  your  knee  too  quietly." 


216  THE  senator's  son. 

^^  The  babies  all  like  me  —  I  am  their  aunt-in-general." 

^'  Like  your  sweet  gifts,  perhaps/'  said  Lucy. 

"  No,  they  like  me.  It  is  seldom  that  I  purchase  their 
love  with  sweets.  I  want  them  to  love  me  on  the  sympa- 
thetic principle  that  I  love  them." 

^'  And  I  know  that  they  do/'  said  Lucy,  looking  af- 
fectionately into  that  countenance  which  beamed  with  kind- 
ness and  intelligence.  "  It  isn't  the  little  folks,  alone, 
either." 

"  I  am  not  ungrateful,"  replied  Mrs.  Smythe,  gently. 

That  was  the  charm  of  her  character.  To  give  as  much 
as  was  given,  and  more,  of  affection  to  all.  Her  sympathies 
were  always  ready  to  be  enlisted,  and  her  heart  overflowed 
with  that  christian  charity  and  good  will  to  her  fellow-crea- 
tures, which  secured  her  in  return  their  confidence  and  love. 

Lucy  brought  the  picture  of  Carrie,  which  she  had 
caused  to  be  set  in  gold  and  pearls  the  last  time  she  was  in 
the  city,  and  showed  it  to  her  visitors.  They  were  warm  in 
their  praises,  and  admired  the  design  exceedingly. 

''What  does  Parke  think  of  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Van 
Duyn. 

"  Ah  I  I  should  like  to  know  what  he  will  think  of  it, 
when  he  sees  it  I"  replied  Lucy.  ''  It  is  his  birthday  gift; 
and  you  shall  see  the  manner  in  which  he  receives  it.  I 
hope  it  will  please  him  ! " 

"  It  cannot  fail  to  do  that.  He  ought  to  be  enrap- 
tured," said  her  friends,  and  she  put  it  in  her  bosom  for 
safe  keeping  until  tea-time. 


THE  senator's  son.  217 

Tlie  three  ladies  had  such  a  social  and  happy  afternoon, 
as  confidential  chit-chat  among  a  kindly  friend,  a  proud 
grand-mother,  a  joyous  mother,  aud  a  good-natured  little 
one  ought  to  make.  Lucy  inquired  minutely  into  every 
little  circumstance  of  the  life  at  the  old  home.  That  sister 
to  whom  she  was  teaching  Grerman,  the  eventful  day  upon 
which  she  introduced  herself  to  her  future  husband,  as  he 
lay,  regardless  of  elegance  at  her  feet  —  that  sister  was  now 
a  blooming  young  lady,  who  had  taken  her  place  in  the 
household  circle.  Katy  was  growing  into  a  slender  maiden, 
with  a  sentimental  turn  of  mind,  who  read  a  great  deal  of 
poetiy,  and  had  been  known  to  scribble  romantic  verses 
under  the  old  oaks  in  the  meadow.  Willie  was  begging 
sturdily  to  go  to  his  uncle  Nold's  in  Philadelphia.  This 
uncle  was  a  forwarding  merchant,  who  having  not  a  boy, 
although  blessed  with  five  girls,  desired  to  adopt  this  of  his 
sister's. 

The  lamps  were  lighted  before  the  sound  of  a  carriage 
rolling  up  to  the  door,  and  of  steps  in  the  hall,  told  Lucy 
that  her  husband  had  returned.  A  rich  color  rushed  into 
her  cheek,  and  her  dark  eyes  lighted  up.  Mrs.  Smythe 
smiled  secretly  to  observe  the  unconscious  pride  and  brill- 
iancy that  came  over  her  demeanor.  Lucy  was  indeed 
proud  of  her  husband,  not  only  of  his  beauty  and  accom- 
plishments, but  of  that  eloquence  of  conversation  and  grace 
of  manner  which  he  had  inherited  from  his  father.  She 
arose  as  he  came  into  the  apartment,  but  hesitated  as  she 
was  about  to  advance  to  meet  him. 
19 


218  THE  senator's  son. 

"  Lute,  my  love !"  lie  began,  in  no  very  dulcet  voice, 
<'  how  do  you  do  ?  Gen.  Taylor  will  be  President  as  sure  as 
ah  !  Mrs.  Van  Duyn  ! "  he  shook  hands  with  her  gaily. 

She  was  astonished  at  his  flushed  face  and  disorderly 
air ;  but  as  Lucy  made  no  move  to»do  so,  she  presented  him 
to  her  friend. 

''  Mrs.  Smythe  —  Smythe  !  you  are  not  the  person  who 
makes  shirts  for  me,  by  that  name  ?  ah,  no  !  I  remember 
now  —  from  Philadelphia  ?  I  beg  your  pardon  —  how  well 
you  are  looking  —  extremely  well !  I  think  I  never  saw 
you  looking  so  finely,  Madam." 

"  I  jiiresume  you  never  did,"  replied  that  lady,  not  dar- 
ing to  glance  towards  the  young  wife,  whose  face  had  grown 
pale,  and  who  stood  motionless  as  if  from  alarm. 

He  took  a  chair  and  sat  down  confidentially  near  her. 

"  Would  you  ever  have  thought  Old  Whitey's  prospects 
were  so  ftivorable?"  he  asked,  in  a  muddled  tone.  ''  Pve 
a  bet  of  two  thousand  against  one  thousand  that  he  will 
never  sit  in  the  Presidential  chair/' 

''  I  dare  say  you  will  win,''  replied  his  guest,  a  flash  of 
humor  breaking  through  her  gravity.  ^'  We  have  never 
elevated  horses  to  that  dignity  yet ;  though  it  has  been  as- 
pired to  by  a  still  inferior  animal." 

<' '  My  horse  I  my  horse  1   a  kingdom  for  my  horse!' 

f^ays  Hudibras.     So  tliere^  Madam,  was  a  man  who  was  wil- 

lin.'j  to  give  his  horse  a  kingdom,  if  we  are  not.     But  you  are 

right,  1  intended  to  speak  of  Old  Whitcy  —  not  his  master." 

''  Ah  'i  "  was  all  his  companion  ventiu-ed  to  say. 


THE    senator's   SON.  219 

Mrs,  Van  Duyn  was  sitting  opposite,  her  face  burning 
with  indignation  and  surprise.  Poor  Lucy  retreated  into 
the  nursery,  where  she  sank  down  upon  the  bed,  and  burst 
into  tears  of  mortification.  Was  this  the  husband  she  had 
arisen  in  such  a  glow  of  pride  to  present  to  her  old  friend  ? 
Bitter  was  her  humiliation  j  but  humiliation  is  not  the 
worst  suffering  of  a  drunkard's  wife;  and  if  we  pity  her 
now,  we  shall  have  more  to  pity  her  for  bye-and-bye. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  hardly  yourself,  Sir,  this 
evening,"  observed  his  mother-in-law,  coldly. 

'^Why  —  no  —  I  am  not.  At  least  I  thought  that  I 
was  not  a  short  time  ago,'^  he  replied,  looking  at  her  comi- 
cally. ^^I  imagined  that  I  was  a  bottle  of  champagne 
which  the  Whigs  and  Locos  were  playing  a  game  of  'brag* 
for.  As  I  was  only  a  bottle  of  wine  they  thought  nothing 
of  my  looking  over,  and  from  where  I  sat  on  the  table,  I 
could  see  the  Old  General  cheating  furiously :  I  tried  to  in- 
flate myself  enough  to  get  the  cork  out  of  my  mouth,  so 
that  I  could  cry  out  '  fraud  !  treason  ! '  and  in  trying  to  do 
it  I  upset  myself — crash  !  fizz  !  —  I  was  a  bottle  of  spilled 
champagne,  not  worth  quarreling  about.  I  had  no  hopes 
of  ever  getting  myself  together  again,  when  John  picked 
me  up  and  put  me,  not  in  the  broken  bottle,  but  on  my 
seat.  You  see,  the  roads  were  so  confounded  rough,  and  he 
had  driven  over  a  stone  and  jostled  me  off"!" 

He  told  this  little  story  with  great  spirit.  The  two  la- 
dies glanced  at  each  other  as  if  not  knowing  whether  to 
laugh  or  cry 


220  THE  senator's  son. 

"Are  you  satisfied  now  of  your  identity?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Smythe,  after  a  pause.  "  I  suspect  that  you  hold 
more  champagne  now  than  a  steady,  respectable  bottle 
should  do." 

"  You  wrong  me/'  Mrs.  Brown/'  he  replied,  with  an 
air  of  dignity  that  would  have  been  superb  upon  a  sober 
man.  "  There  no  doubt  appears  something  peculiar  in  my 
manner,  but  it  is  owing  to  the  excitement  of  the  times.  I 
have  taken  a  glass  once  or  twice  to-day  with  a  few  of  my 
friends  —  but  the  condition  of  our  party  demanded  it. 
AVhen  the  interests  of  the  country  are  at  stake  a  man  must 
not  stand " 

"  Nor  fall  —  "  suggested  Mrs.  Smythe. 

"  There  you  have  me  again.  You  are  witty,  Mrs. 
Brown,"  with  an  admiring  bow  :  "  no,  he  must  not  fall,  as 
I  did  once  to-day ;  but  he  must  not  stand  upon  trifles.  It 
is  against  my  principles  to  touch  any  kind  of  intoxicating 
beverage.  I  swore  to  my  dear  Lucy,  before  I  was  married, 
that  I  never  would  ^  toy  with  the  dangerous  flame  /  did  I 
not,  my  love?"  he  turned  to  where  his  wife  had  stood,  but 
she  was  gone ;  "  and  I  am  bound  to  keep  my  promise  sa- 
credly after  the  first  Tuesday  in  November.  Excuse  me, 
my  dear  mother  —  pardon  me,  Mrs.  Brown  —  I  must  leave 
you  a  moment  ^  to  the  society  of  your  sweet  selves '  —  I 
haven't  had  a  kiss  from  Carrie  yet." 

He  made  another  princely  bow,  and  retreated  to  the 
nur°ery  in  search  of  his  baby. 

''  Poor  Lucy  !    my  prophecy  has  come  true  ! "   cried  the 


THE   senator's   SOX.  221 

mother,  as  he  disappeared,  ^^woe  and  wretchedness  are  in 
store  for  you,  I  fear/' 

"  Displeasure  and  pride  for  a  time  kept  back  her  tears, 
and  then  they  flowed  accordant  with  her  daughter's. 

"1  am   more  than  surprised!    I  had  no  suspicion  of^r 
this,"  said  her  friend.     Poor  Lucy  !  indeed  !    He  looks  like 
a  splendid  man  though,  what  a  pity  —  pity  —  pity  I" 

"  It  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  known  him  to  touch 
wine  for  more  than  four  years.  I  had  began  to  lose  all  my 
old  apprehensions ;  but  I  had  reason  for  them,  I  could  read 
his  character  better  than  those  young  people  who  thought 
that  a  few  months  of  trial  had  proved  him  sufficiently. 
'  Unstable  as  water,  thou  shalt  not  excel,'  is  written  upon 
his  destiny.  It  mars  the  brilliancy  of  his  gifts,  it  makes  of 
no  account  his  good  resolutions.  Yet  how  could  I  blame 
Lucy  for  loving  him  —  or  for  determining  to  share  his  for- 
tunes, be  they  good  or  bad  ?  For  if  his  character  is  unsta- 
ble as  water,  like  water  it  is  fascinating  —  sparkling  with 
evanescent  hues  and  shades,  lit  up  by  every  gleam  of 
beauty,  musical  with  depths  that  excite  curiosity,  and  tones 
that  are  strangely  pleasing." 

"  I  should  judge  as  much  of  him.  But,  alas  !  of  what 
avail  are  these  excellencies,  if  all  to  be  darkened  in  this 
manner  !  Probably  though,  this  is  but  a  rare  excess,  and 
will  never  lead  to  confirmed  intemperance.  Surely  the  in- 
fluence of  a  strong-minded  and  warm-hearted  girl  like  Lucy 
ought  to  prevent  any  man  from  becoming  a  brute." 

^'  I  pray  heaven  that  it  may  !    but  I  have  no  confidence 
19* 


222  THE  senator's  son. 

in  him.  With  him  it  has  always  been  to  take  one  step  and 
then  look  back  no  more,  until  dragged  by  some  powerful 
effort  of  others  into  comparative  safety.'^ 

Lucy  interrupted  them  by  coming  to  lead  them  to  the 
tea-table. 

^'  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  him  so  —  but  he  has 
been  drinking  for  two  or  three  weeks/'  she  said  in  reply  to 
her  mother's  question. 

Traces  of  tears  were  upon  her  cheeks,  but  she  said  noth- 
ing more  upon  the  subject.  Mr.  Madison  was  at  tea,  but 
as  the  stimulus  he  had  taken  subsided  in  its  exhilarating 
effects  he  grew  silent  and  sleepy.  Immediately  after  the 
uncomfortable  meal  was  finished,  he  pleaded  fatigue,  and 
politely  withdrew.  The  ladies  gathered  around  the  centre- 
table  in  the  parlor  with  their  knitting,  and  tried  to  pass  a 
cheerful  evening,  but  tried  in  vain.  Lucy  was  proud  as 
well  as  afibctionate ;  so  that  whatever  her  secret  fears  were, 
or  however  much  she  felt  disposed  to  blame,  she  would  not 
touch  upon  her  feelings,  even  to  her  mother.  She  remem- 
bered that  mother's  warning ;  and  with  a  swelling  heart  she 
resolved  that  the  prophecy  should  not  be  realized  if  every- 
thing that  a  truthful  and  patient  wife  could  do  should  have 
any  effect. 

Of  course  the  presentation  of  the  portrait  had  to  be  de- 
layed until  morning.  Something  of  the  mortification  which 
had  tortured  Lucy  the  preceding  evening  was  now  endured 
by  Parke,  as  he,  with  a  faint  recollection  of  his  yesterday's 
absurdities,  was  obliged  to  be  present  at  breakfast.      He 


THE  senator's  son.  223 

would  have  given  half  his  farm  to  be  a  hundred  miles  away 
from  the  reproachful  glance  of  Mrs.  Van  Duyn's  eye,  as  she 
took  his  hand  at .  meeting.  He  felt  that  he  had  wounded 
the  mother  through  her  child's  heart  —  that  beloved  child 
whom  he  had  taken  from  her,  to  cherish  with  a  husband's 
fondness.  Lucy  was  all  kindness;  and  Mrs.  Smythe  ap- 
peared to  have  forgotten  the  manner  in  which  their  ac- 
quaintance was  made.  The  remembrance  to  him  was  intol- 
erable ;  hearing  that  the  guests  designed  returning  home 
that  afternoon,  he  made  an  errand  to  town,  that  he  might 
be  relieved  from  that  society  which  would  have  been  so 
agreeable  but  two  days  ago ;  resolved  not  to  return  until 
they  had  departed. 

There  was  a  silent  language  in  the  embrace  Mrs.  Van 
Duyn  gave  her  daughter  at  parting  —  unutterable  love, 
the  wish  to  avert  danger,  to  protect  from  coming  sorrow. 
It  brought  the  quick  drops  to  Lucy's  eyes,  but  she  bravely 
drove  them  back. 

"  Mrs.  Smythe,"  she  said,  "  you  must  forgive  Mr.  Mad- 
ison for  my  sake.  It  is  his  first  offence,  and  I  am  deter- 
mined that  it  shall  be  his  last.'' 

She  smiled,  but  it  did  not  hide  the  quiver  of  her  lips. 
~     That  night,  again,  Parke  did  not  retura  home. 

From  that  time  began  for  Lucy  Madison  the  untold 
miseries  of  an  inebriate's  wife.  It  had  been  hard  and  bitter 
for  a  sister  to  wear  out  the  midnight  hours  in  waiting  —  to 
wear  out  her  hopes  in  watching  —  to  wear  out  her  heart  in 
sorrow  ;  but  a  sister's  wretchedness  cannot  be  that  of  a  wife's. 


224  THE    SEJfATOR's    SOK-, 

She  looked  upon  her  child  with  mingled  feelings ;  it  was  her 
consolation  and  her  trouble.  Its  pretty  ways  wiled  her  of 
many  a  weary  hour ;  but  thoughts  of  its  future,  as  cursed 
by  an  unhappy  father,  gaye  her  many  another  sleepless  one. 
It  was  with  no  tender  thrill  of  joy  that  she  found,  before  the 
winter  was  past,  that  she  had  the  promise  of  again  becom- 
ing a  mother.  Ah,  no  I  why  should  she  desire  children  ? 
that  they  might  grow  up  ashamed,  with  an  inheritance  of 
vice  ?  Her  spirits  ebbed  to  the  lowest  tide,  but  she  never 
for  a  moment  gave  up  to  despair.  Parke,  wavering  and  un- 
steady as  he  was,  could  not  have  had  a  companion  more 
purposed  for  his  good.  With  all  her  affection,  Lucy  had 
her  mother^s  indomitable  soul,  her  noble  pride  and  perse- 
vering energy.  "When  she  saw  that  he  neglected  his  farm 
affairs,  and  that  his  carelessness  was  taken  advantage  of  by 
his  men,  she,  herself,  stepped  forward  to  the  rescue  of  their 
falling  fortunes,  and  made  their  people  feel  that  there  was 
still  a  head  at  work,  if  it  was  a  woman's  head.  One  third 
of  their  beautiful  estate  went  immediately  after  election  into 
the  hands  of  those  with  whom  he  had  betted.  This  loss 
was  not  sufficient  to  diminish  any  of  their  comforts  —  it  only 
foreboded  troubles  that  were  yet  to  come. 

A  few  months  of  dissipation  produced  their  usual  effects 
upon  Parke.  His  nerves,  unstrung  by  escess,  grew  irrita- 
ble, and  as  a  natural  consequence  his  temper  grew  harsh 
and  fretful.  His  remorse  did  not  tend  to  sooth  them,  and 
the  result  was  coldness  and  unkindncss  towards  his  wife. 
In  vain  she  tried  now  to  wile  him  back  to  his  former  self 


^        THE    senator's    SON.  225 

with  the  sweetness  of  her  guitar,  and  the  still  softer  music 
of  her  voice.  In  vain  that  she  strove  to  keep  him  at  home 
by  making  their  artless  daughter  the  pretty  pleader.  His 
every-day  stimulus  was  brandy  now;  and  it  eat  into  his 
heart  and  brain  as  well  as  hi?  stomach.  It  preyed  upon 
those  nice  perceptions  and  glowing  imaginations  which  once 
added  such  spirit  to  his  character ;  it  gnawed  ceaselessly  at 
those  heart-strings  once  so  finely  strung  to  the  lightest  touch 
of  love,  until  they  mouldered  one  by  one,  and  when  Lucy 
would  have  wakened  their  melody  as  of  old,  there  was  si- 
lence where  once  was  sweetest  sound.  It  inflamed  the 
coarser  passions  of  his  nature,  those  which  could  endure 
the  fiery  lash ;  but  his  more  delicate  sensibilities  fell  and 
perished  under  the  infliction.  There  grew  less  and  less  in 
him  to  love.  It  was  not  only  that  harshness  and  moodiness 
repelled  her  afi"ection ;  when  Lucy  looked  for  those  qualities 
which  had  won  her  passionate  regard,  they  were  gone. 
Gone  the  soul-beaming  glance  —  gone  the  glory  and  purity 
of  intellectual  gifts  —  gone  the  gentleness  of  manner  — 
gone  the  playful  fancy — gone  the  tender  and  reverential 
admiration  of  her  wifely  excellence !  In  their  place,  the 
sullen  and  abashed  look,  the  dull  and  diseased  mind,  the 
reckless  hardness  of  actions,  the  senseless  gayety  startling  at 
times  out  of  stupidity,  the  cowardly  coldness  on  the  maud- 
lin caress. 

It  takes  more  than  a  few  months  of  trial  to  wear  out  a 
woman's  endurance.  Lucy's  devotion  was  more  than  ever, 
if  her  aff'ection  was  somewhat  less.     She  loved  him  for  what 


226  THE  senator's  son. 

he  had  been  and  for  what  she  still  hoped  he  would  yet  be. 
She  loved  him  as  the  love  of  her  youth,  her  husband,  and 
the  father  cf  Carrie.  A  protector  he  had  ceased  to  be,  and 
had  become  instead  a  persecutor. 

The  days  came  for  maple-sugar  making.  Lucy  allowed 
the  fires  to  glare,  the  smoke  to  struggle  with  the  leaflesa 
trees,  the  kettles  to  bubble  and  sing,  without  going  out  to 
enjoy  this  little  piece  of  domestic  romance.  She  thanked 
the  farmer's  boys  when  they  brought  her  hearts,  and  doves, 
and  eggs  of  new  sugar,  with  a  smile  that  sent  them  off 
happy,  but  she  neglected  her  old  seat  among  the  gnarled 
roots  of  a  maple ;  and  giving  the  sweet  devices  to  Carrie, 
who  could  best  appreciate  them,  she  turned  with  a  sigh  to 
other  employments. 

Dear  little  Carrie !  playing  a  fairy's  part  in  the  drama 
of  home,  with  a  wand  of  sunshine,  whose  power  fell  bright- 
ly upon  all.  She  was  too  little  to  fear  the  shadows  gather- 
ing around  the  hearth ;  at  last,  they  began  to  fall  even  upon 
her.  Her  father,  in  his  irritable  moods,  would  let  his  ill- 
humor  rest  upon  her  —  a  scowl,  an  impatient  word,  a  cruel 
shake  of  that  tiny  form,  was  enough  to  grieve  her  to  the 
heart,  and  send  her  sobbing  to  her  mother.  She  did  not 
run,  as  she  was  wont,  to  lead  him  by  the  hand  the  moment 
she  heard  his  step  in  the  hall ;  but  shrinking  close  to  her 
protecting  mamma,  she  would  wait  until  she  had  read  his 
face  before  she  ventured  to  intrude  her  innocent  affection 
upon  him.  Whenever  he  observed  this  it  displeased  him, 
and  he  would  accuse  Lucy  of  teaching  his  child  to  dislike 


THE    senator's    SON.  '227 

her  father  !  There -was  another  subject  npon  which  he  took 
it  into  his  disordered  mind  to  be  uncontented.  They  were 
getting  too  poor,  he  said,  to  afford  to  raise  a  family,  and  he 
did  not  see  what  Lucy  was  such  a  dunce  for  as  to  be  troub- 
ling him  with  the  prospects  of  more  children,  when  they 
could  just  manage  to  live  now  I  Well  might  her  mother 
exclaim,  ''  Poor  Lucy !  woe  and  wretchedness  are  ia  store 
for  you ! '' 

The  warm  weather  was  trying  to  her  health.  Her 
mother,  Mrs.  Crawford,  and  Alice,  all  endeavored  to  induce 
her  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  them  ',  but  she  refused,  be- 
cause she  was  afraid  that  in  her  absence  her  husband  would 
feel  still  less  restraint.  It  was  "  for  better,  for  worse,''  that 
she  married  him,  and  she  was  not  going  to  desert  him  even 
for  a  little  while.  In  these  dark  days  of  his  trial  and  temp- 
tation, if  she  did  not  cling  to  him,  who  would  ?  If  he  had 
no  patience,  she  must  have  all  \  if  he  had  no  dignity,  she 
must  have  more ;  if  he  had  no  prudence,  she  must  exercise 
double  vigilance.  God,  who  knows  the  heart,  knows  that 
Parke  had  hours  of  deep  repentance,  of  mental  agony ;  and 
that  Lucy  knew  of  those,  and  pitied  while  she  blamed,  and 
loved  while  she  pitied.  To  others  and  to  herself  she  urged, 
in  extenuation,  his  inherited  defects  of  energy  and  passion 
for  stimulating  drink,  and  they  were  good  excuses  as  far  aa 
they  went.  She  cried  out  as  Parke's  mother  and  sister,  as 
he  himself,  had  done  — 

"  Since  he  cannot  control  himself,  why  is  there  no 
power  that  can  be  brought  to  bear  to  prevent  this  worst  of 


228  THE  senator's  sow. 

iself-murders  ?'^  In  her  anguish  there  was  evidenee  that  bo 
sophistry,  no  policy  of  state^  could  refnte.  If  any  one  had 
asked  her  in  such  moments  "if  tho  traffick  in  intoxicating 
drinks  was  an  evil  ?"  she  would  have  gazed  at  him  in  aston- 
ishment. If  he  had  went  on  with  his  questions  and  en- 
quired "  whether  it  was  right  to  prohibit  evil  by  law  ?"  she 
would  still  have  regarded  tdese  simple  propositions^,  already 
decided  in  tne  hearts  of  every  drunkard's  wife  and  child 
and  friend,  and  of  every  drunkard  himself,  as  so  established 
in  the  affirmative  as  to  require  no  answer.  She  would  not 
have  stopped  to  enquire,  "  Will  it  add  to  or  take  away  from 
the  income  of  this  Government  ? '^  but  she  would  have 
stretched  out  her  hands  to  the  nation  and  cried, 

"  Give  me  my  husband  !  give  me  back  my  husband  1 " 

One  pleasant  day  in  September,  Lucy  sat  by  the  window 
in  that  west  room  where  Parke's  mother  had  died,  and 
which  was  always  the  pleasantest  of  summer  rooms.  In 
her  lap  was  a  variety  of  Carrie's  out-grown  baby-clothes 
which  she  was  preparing  for  the  expected  little  stranger. 
A  tear  would  occasionally  steal  slowly  down  her  cheek  and 
drop  upon  her  work,  as  she  mused  upon  the  past,  and  with 
what  different  and  happier  emotions  she  had  first  fashioned 
those  fine  cambrics,  soft  flannels,  and  dainty  embroideries. 

Carrie  sat  on  a  footstool  by  her  side,  with  a  huge  needle, 
a  long  thread,  and  a  wee-bit  of  cloth,  taking  her  first  lesson 
in  the  womanly-accomplishment  of  sewing. 

Suddenly  she  hushed  her  childish  prattle,  for  she  heard 
her  father  coming  around  the  portico  with  hasty  steps. 


THE    senator's  fiON.  229 

"  Curse  it !  '^  he  was  swearing  to  himself,  "  that  dog 
Dixon  has  cheated  me  out  of  five  hundred  dollars  —  I  know 
he  has ;  and  he's  so  cursed  impudent  about  it,  too  I  I'll 
not  have  him  on  this  farm  another  year  —  no  !  he  shall 
leave,  if  he  goes  to  perdition  !" 

He  came  into  his  wife's  presence  and  commenced  his 
complaints.  He  was  not  intoxicated,  though  he  had  been 
drinking  some.  She  ventured  a  remonstrance,  when  he 
swore  that  he  would  discharge  his  farmer;  for  she  knew 
that  Dixon  would  do  better  than  anybody  else,  even  if  he 
did  not  always  do  right,  and  she  told  him  so. 

"  What  do  you  women  know  about  that  ?  he  asked,  with 
contempt.     "  Here,  Carrie,  come  to  your  father  !  " 

Mrs.  Madison  thought  that  she  had  had  good  opportu- 
nities for  learning  something  of  his  affairs,  but  she  said 
nothing.  Carrie  was  hiding  behind  her  chair,  regarding 
her  father  fearfully,  one  eye  just  visible  through  Lucy's 
net-work  of  braided  hair.  She  hesitated  to  obey  his  com- 
mand, which  was  spoken  in  no  gentle  tone. 

"  What  are  you  skulking  there  for  ?  are  you  afraid  of 
me  ?  This  is  some  of  your  work,  Mrs.  Madison,  teaching 
our  child  to  dislike  me  !  I  will  have  no  such  actions  in  a 
daughter  of  mine.  When  I  call  her,  she  shall  come ;  and 
without  turning  white,  either." 

He  was  terribly  out  of  humor,  and  as  he  approached 
the  trembling  little  girl,  Lucy  was  afraid  that  he  would  lay 
violent  hands  upon  her.  She  stood  up,  and  pushed  Carrie 
behind  her. 

«0 


230  THE  senator's  son. 

"  Parke !  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  have  tauglit  your  child 
no  disobedience.  You  know  very  well  that  she  has  reason 
to  be  afraid  of  you.  It  is  you  who  have  taught  her  this 
fear." 

<^  Is  she  to  witness  your  disrespect,  Madam,  and  to  think 
that  you  are  going  to  interfere  with  my  commands  ?  " 

He  put  out  his  hand,  not  to  strike,  but  to  thrust  her 
rudely  to  one  side.  In  her  present  condition  she  was  not 
strong;  she  staggered  and  dropped  to  the  floor,  bruising 
her  temple  against  the  window-casement.  Ashamed  and 
alarmed,  her  husband  raised  her,  and  found  that  she  had 
fainted.  At  that  moment  his  sister  Alice  confronted  him. 
She  had  rode  out  from  town  upon  horseback  to  enquire  after 
Lucy's  health,  and  coming  silently  up  the  greensward  had 
dismounted  and  entered  the  house  without  being  perceived. 
She  stood  in  the  door  during  this  brief  scene.  When  she 
stepped  forward  to  the  wife's  aid,  her  face  was  colorless,  and 
her  eyes  flashed  with  a  fire  that  had  never  been  kindled  in 
their  depths  before. 

^'  Go  ! "  she  said,  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  '^  leave  her 
with  me !     You  are  unfit  to  render  assistance  here." 

She  took  the  suff"erer  from  him,  as  if  she  had  the 
strength  of  a  giant,  laid  her  tenderly  upon  the  lounge,  dip- 
ped her  handkerchief  in  a  pitcher  of  ice-water  which  stood 
upon  the  table,  bathing  that  bruised  forehead  and  wiping 
the  blood  which  trickled  slowly  from  the  temple.  He  lin- 
gered until  Lucy  opened  her  eyes,  and  then  retreated  from 
the  room.     With  mechanical  comjposure^  Alice  continued- 


THE   senator's    SON.  231 

her  efforts,  until  consciousness  had  fully  returned  and  Lucy 
made  an  effort  to  sit  up. 

^'  I  am  not  hurt,"  she  said,  "  I  was  only  stunned  for  a 
moment.  He  did  not  intend  to  hurt  me  —  I  know  he 
didn't  —  but  I  was  so  weak.  Now,  Alice,  do  not  tell 
mother.'' 

Alice  turned  away  her  eyes  from  that  pleading  face  — 
she  could  hear  no  more  —  rising  abruptly  she  went  from 
the  room.  She  entered  the  parlor  and  closed  the  door. 
Parke  was  there,  moving  restlessly  about  the  room.  He 
paused  and  gazed  at  her  as  she  stood  before  him.  Despite 
of  his  shame,  he  could  not  but  look  at  her  in  wonder.  She 
seemed  two  or  three  inches  taller  than  usual.  Her  wasted, 
delicate  figure  expanded  and  heightened  with  the  inward 
force  of  her  emotions.  Her  face  and  lips  were  hueless  — 
only  those  dark,  large  eyes  burned  with  the  flame  that  was 
kindled  within. 

"  Oh,  wretched  man  !  will  you  have  another  victim  V 

Was  that  his  sister  who  was  speaking  ?  Something  in 
her  changed  voice  compelled  his  confused  faculties  to  gather 
into  one  clear  sense  of  hearing. 

"  Will  you  add  murder  to  your  crushing  responsibility  ? 
Look  at  me,  Parke ;  is  this  the  eye,  the  brow,  the  cheeks  of 
twenty-two  ?  I  am  one  of  your  victims ;  I  gave  myself  a 
sacrifice  to  keep  you  from  that  prison  where  it  were  better 
you  now  were.  I  have  inflicted  upon  myself  more  misery 
than  a  life  of  imprisonment  in  a  dungeon  could  bring.  I 
am  the  wife  of  9,  man  who  esteems  himself  a  god,  and  wor- 


232  THE  senator's  son. 

sliips  himself  accordingly.  I  am  the  slave  of  a  heartless 
voluptuary.  To  save  you,  I  overcame  that  terror  with 
which  my  purer  nature  shrank  from  his,  and  stood  beside 
him  at  the  altar.  I  lived  with  him,  and  found  that  I  had 
linked  my  earthly  fate  with  that  of  an  infidel,  a  hater  of 
man  and  a  scorner  of  God.  I  could  not  love  him.  He  did 
not  demand  my  love.  It  was  enough  for  him  to  feel  that  I 
belonged  to  him ;  he  made  no  demand  for  those  tender  fan- 
cies and  yearning  affections  which  form  so  large  a  part  of  a 
woman's  nature.  He  laughed  at  my  religion.  I  lived  on 
with  the  heart  of  youth  growing  cold  in  my  bosom,  and  its 
warm  pulses  declining  to  a  weary  slowness ;  associated  with 
a  tyrant,  wrapped  in  luxurious  indulgences,  who  took  all 
that  he  could  secure  of  pleasure  in  this  world  with  no  fear 
or  expectation  of  another.  At  last  he  has  grown  tired  of 
me.  That  coldness  and  resignation  which  he  once  delighted 
in,  because  he  could  torture  it,  has  become  too  cold  and  too 
resigned  for  him.  He  will  have  no  more  of  me.  To-mor- 
row, Mr.  Clyde  goes  south,  and  leaves  me  behind.  He 
never  intends  to  see  me  again ;  but  he  does  not  wish  the 
world  to  think  it  a  case  of  heartless  desertion,  for  he  lives 
upon  the  honey  of  the  world,  and  would  keep  its  good  opin- 
ion. So  he  has  instituted  an  understanding  that  business 
calls  him  him  away,  and  will  leave  people  to  discover  in  the 
course  of  time  what  his  real  motives  are.  He  leaves  me 
alone,  exposed  to  misrepresentation  and  calumny.  He 
leaves  me  without  sufficient  means  for  my  support,  for  my 
fortune  and  his  own  are  not  too  much  for  his  pleasure.     I 


THE   senator's   SON.  233 

must  either  become  dependent  upon  the  kindness  of  the 
Crawford's  or  give  lessons  in  music  for  a  living.  Parke 
Madison  !  this  is  your  work.  In  being  faithful  to  you  as 
my  mother  demanded,  your  own  follies  have  led  me  into 
this  bitter  and  neglected  state.  What  is  my  reward  ?  Have 
I  a  brother  who  will  step  forth  like  a  man  and  demand  the 
rights  of  his  sister  ?  Instead,  I  see  before  me  a  brute,  who 
has  just  stricken  the  wife  of  his  bosom  to  the  earth.  I  see 
two  hearts  breaking.  I  see  a  little  child,  learning  in  its  in- 
fancy the  language  of  curses,  frowns,  and  blows.  And  see- 
ing this,  I  am  tempted  to  renounce  you,  I  think  that  I  am 
absolved  from  that  dying  injunction,  since  I  have  beheld 
you  strike  your  wife  prostrate  —  and  such  a  wife,  and  in 
such  a  condition.  I  wronged  Lucy  when  I  permitted  her 
to  marry  you,  without  vowing  to  her  that  it  would  be  her 
curse.  Now  I  am  going  to  take  her  away  from  you  until 
she  is  in  at  least  a  less  dangerous  situation  for  enduring  the 
blows  of  an  enraged  husband.  I  shall  take  her  back  to  her 
mother,  this  very  day,  whether  she  wishes  to  go  or  not,  and 
there  she  shall  remain  until  you  are  worthy  to  claim  her,  or 
until  her  health  permits  her  to  return  to  you.  Oh !  my 
mother!"  she  laid  her  hands  together  and  lifted  up  her 
eyes ;  ''if  thou  canst  look  down  from  thy  walks  in  Paradise, 
my  sunken  cheek,  my  dreary  brow,  my  lingering  step,  my 
blighted  heart,  shall  be  to  thee  the  assurance  of  my  faith- 
fulness ;  thou  canst  require  no  more  of  me  —  thou  wilt  not 
blame  if  I  now  forsake  him  !" 

Had  she  ceased  to  speak  ?  —  Parke  stood  shivering  be- 
20* 


234  TTTE  senator's  son. 

fore  licr,  thrilled  through  and  through  by  her  voice,  as  by  a 
blast  of  cold  mountain  wind.  He  half  expected  to  hear  the 
tones  of  his  mother  in  response  floating  down  through  the 
sky  and  sealing  his  condemnation. 

^^  My  God  !  Alice  ! "  he  cried  with  a  sudden  burst  of  des- 
pair, ^^  are  you  going  to  forsake  me?  then  I  am  indeed  lost  I " 

It  seemed  as  if  he  had  some  idea  that  as  long  as  so  pure 
and  etherial  a  creature  as  Alice  clung  to  him,  that  the  an- 
gels and  their  Lord  might  have  compassion  upon  him  and 
consider  him  kindly  for  her  sake. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  glided  like  a  shadow  out  of  the 
room. 

By  her  directions  the  family  carriage  was  prepared  as 
comfortably  as  possible,  and  Lucy  placed  therein.  Carrie 
and  a  trunk  of  clothing  followed.  Lucy  was  loth  to  go. 
She  felt  iis  if  she  ought  to  go,  out  of  consideration  for  her 
own  comfort ;  but  she  could  not  endure  to  leave  her  hus- 
band to  his  own  unhappy  society.  Parke  saw  them  depart 
from  the  parlor-window ;  Alice  riding  her  pony  close  by  the 
carriage,  looking  in  and  talking  to  its  occupants.  Should  he 
let  them  go  ?  it  was  his  right  and  privilege  to  recall  his 
wife  and  child  and  compel  them  to  obedience.  The  terror 
which  came  over  him  when  he  saw  Lucy  lying  senseless 
before  him,  recurred  to  his  mind ;  how  should  he  answer 
for  himself,  that  to-morrow  he  might  not  again  be  as  much 
of  a  brute,  or  perhaps  a  murderer  ?  How  could  he  give 
surety  for  the  conduct  of  a  madman  ?  and  did  he  not  innke 
a  madman  of  himself  every  day  ? 


THE    senator's    SON.  235 

He  turned  from  the  window,  as  the  carriage  slowly 
rolled  away,  and  walked  rapidly  back  and  forth,  such  fire 
scorched  his  brain,  such  red  shapes  swam  before  his  eyes, 
such  hideous  images  thronged  his  mind,  that  he  was  seized 
with  a  fear  of  the  drunkard's  mania.  Was  that  madness 
coming  upon  him,  too  ?  with  a  cry  between  a  groan  and 
shriek  he  rushed  out  of  the  house  and  ran  towards  the 
grove.  Anywhere,  anywhere,  out  into  the  open  air  where 
no  eye  could  behold  him,  nor  ear  take  note  of  his  distress. 
He  fled  along ;  in  gaining  the  grove,  he  had  to  cross  the 
stream  which  wound  through  the  meadow.  Late  rains  had 
swelled  it  to  quite  a  little  river.  As  his  foot  lingered  on 
the  log  which  spanned  it,  a  new  sound  confused  him  — 
"  Anywhere  —  anywhere  out  of  the  world!''  rang  through 
his  ear;  he  obeyed  the  cunning  suggestion  and  sprang  into 
the  stream.  He  fell  face  downwards,  sank,  and  rose  again 
struggling.  He  struck  out  his  hands,  but  they  clutched 
not  even  a  straw.  Demons  were  shouting  in  his  ears  and 
sitting  upon  his  breast.  Off !  off !  would  they  not  release 
him  from  their  dreadful  weight  upon  his  bosom  ?  no  !  they 
lauo-hed  and  roared,  and  their  pressure  grew  intolerable. 
Then  they  slowly  swam  away,  leaving  him  floating  upon  a 
cloud  airily  through  the  sky,  and  Lucy  singing  her  cradle- 
songs  to  Carrie,  close  by  his  side.  Then  *  *  *  * 
>  It  was  scarcely  more  than  a  week  after  Lucy  was  set- 
tled in  her  mother's  home  before  her  baby  was  born.  She 
was  very  ill,  and  the  baby,  a  boy,  was  a  feeble,  tiny  little 
creature.     She  had  the  best  of  nurses  in  Alice  and  Mrs. 


236  THE    SENATOR  S    SON. 

Van  Duyn.  The  slow-spoken  Doctor^  who  once  attended 
upon  Parke's  broken  head  and  arm,  was  exceedingly  inter- 
ested in  his  patient  and  anxious  to  have  her  recover.  For 
some  time  her  life  was  in  danger,  but  in  the  course  of  two 
or  three  weeks  she  began  to  amend.  Every  comfort  and 
kindness  surrounded  her  sick  bed;  every  blessing  except 
that  she  most  pined  for,  the  presence  of  her  husband.  He 
was  the  father  of  a  boy;  and  perhaps  he  did  not  even  know 
of  it;  he  had  never  taken  the  little  fellow  in  his  arms, 
kissed  its  puny  face,  nor  thanked  her  for  the  peril  she  had 
endured,  nor  the  son  she  had  given.  For  long  hours  she 
would  lay  with  closed  eyes,  her  whole  being  absorbed  in  an 
intense  yearning  to  look  upon  her  husband,  to  feel  his  lips 
upon  her  forehead,  and  to  nestle  her  hand  in  his.  She 
spoke  to  her  mother  about  it  every  day ;  but  the  mother-in- 
la^could  not  forget,  as  her  daughter  had,  the  wrongs  of  the 
sufferer.  She  was  not  aware  of  how  powerful  Lucy's  feel- 
ings were  upon  the  subject,  until  the  physician  told  her  that, 
as  long  as  the  cause  for  such  nervous  excitement  existed  in 
his  patient,  he  could  not  hope  to  see  her  get  well. 

Katy  was  very  much  disappointed  because  the  baby  was 
not  a  girl.  She  had  a  name  ready  for  it,  but  it  would  not 
sound  well  to  call  a  boy  ^  Jane  Eyre,'  and  she  was  obliged 
to  relinquish  tlie  idea.  She  puzzled  her  brain  to  decide  be- 
tween '■  Herbert  Gray'  and  '  Vivian.'  Poor  little  thing  ! 
it  needed  no  name.  After  a  brief  month  of  pain  and  pining 
away,  it  closed  its  eyes  upon  a  troublous  earth.  The  chil- 
dren wept  over  the  corpse,  tiny  and  white  in  its  pretty 


237 


coffin,  for  '  the  baby'  was  a  precious  thing  to  them.  Carrie 
cried  because  ^  brother '  was  so  cold,  and  because  they  took 
him  away  and  put  him  in  the  ground  beneath  the  oak  in 
the  meadow  and  left  him  alone  in  the  dark. 

Lucy  mourned  deeply  over  its  loss.  It  was  all  the 
dearer  to  her  for  being  so  surrounded  by  tribulations.  Its 
sickliness  and  feebleness  had  awakened  strange  feelings  of 
tenderness ;  and  it  was  born,  and  dead,  and  buried,  and  its 
father  had  never  beheld  it.  What  to  her  now  were  his 
cruel  taunts  when  he  had  declared  himself  too  poor  to  be 
burdened  with  a  family  ?  nothing ;  she  forgave  him  all  and 
felt  that  she  should  die  if  she  should  not  see  him.  She 
eank  again  so  rapidly  that  messengers  were  dispatched  with 
the  news  of  her  danger,  and  her  desire  to  see  him,  to  Mr. 
Madison. 

When  Parke  left  the  house  with  that  fierce  cry,  he  had 
startled  the  house-keeper  from  her  quiet  seat  in  the  dining- 
room,  where  she  sat  reflecting  upon  the  wickedness  of  men, 
and  wondering  when  her  mistress  thought  of  returning. 

"  Mercy  sakes  !  I  believe  he's  gone  crazy  !''  she  'ejac- 
ulated, as  she  saw  him  flying  across  the  meadow.  ^'  Here, 
Dixon,  set  down  that  milk  and  come  and  see  what's  the 
matter  with  Mr.  Madison." 

Dixon  was  in  the  kitchen  helping  himself  to  a  bowl  of 
bread  and  milk ;  he  did  not  stir  at  her  bidding. 

^'  I  don't  care  what's  the  matter  with  him,  I'm  sure. 
He  called  me  a  liar  and  robber  not  three  hours  ago." 

^'  Lord  a'mercy !    if  he  hasn't  jumped  plump  into  the 


288  THE  senator's  son. 

creek  !     He's  drowning ;  Dixon,  you  fool,  aint  you  going  to 
start?" 

The  former's  resentment  did  not  extend  as  far  as  to 
wish  death  for  his  landlord  just  then )  so  he  threw  down  his 
spoon,  and  started  on  a  lumbering  run  to  the  rescue.  The 
drowning  man  was  insensible  w^hen  he  dragged  him  out. 
Hester  prided  herself  on  her  skill  as  a  doctress  as  well  as 
house-keeper ;  her  strong  arms  and  rude  remedies  were  of 
good  account.  She  threw  over  the  first  barrel  she  came  to, 
which  chanced  to  be  the  swill-barrel,  and  helped  Dixon  to 
bear  him  to  it,  and  left  him  with  injunctions  to  roll  him 
desperately  every  minute  while  she  hastened  after  blankets, 
and  hot  ashes,  and  the  bellows.  Their  united  exertions 
were  crowned  with  success.  Parke  recovered  his  breath, 
wdth  a  portion  of  his  senses,  and  passed  a  sick  night  with 
only  Hester  to  sit  by  his  couch.  But  the  demons  were 
driven  away  for  the  present.  Hydropathy  had  cured  him 
of  incipient  delirium-tremens. 

The  next  day,  haggard  and  weak,  he  rode  on  horseback 
to  the  city,  to  give  Alfred  Clyde  a  warning  not  to  ill-treat 
his  sister  !  but  that  gentleman  had  already  left  on  the  boat, 
and  Alice  was  out  at  Mrs.  Van  Duyn's. 
^  "  After  all,"  he  muttered,  turning  from  the  Clyde  resi- 
dence, '^what  could  I  have  said  to  the  villain,  when  my 
own  wife  has  taken  refuge  in  her  mother's  home  from  my 
ferocity?" 

Truly  he  could  have  said  nothing )  for  Alfred  with  cool 
sarcasm,  polished  and  sharp  as  steel,  would  have  defeated 


THE  senator's  son.  239 

him,  and  left  him  powerless  on  the  field.  As  Alice  accused 
him,  he  was  not  fit  to  be  a  brother  or  protector. 

This  reflection  was  so  humiliating  that  he  called  at  the 
fir.st  saloon  for  something  to  exhilarate  his  self-esteem. 
Another  week  of  intoxication  ensued^  from  which  he  was 
aroused  by  hearing  of  Lucy's  danger.  This  appalling  news 
brouglit  another  of  those  seasons  of  repentance,  when  the 
tempter  was  nearly  overcome.  Not  daring  to  intrude  into 
the  house,  he  haunted  the  vicinity  of  the  cottage  day  after 
day.  Several  nights  he  set  under  the  window  of  the  sick- 
room, as  if  there  he  could  hear  that  feeble  breathing  which 
might  so  soon  be  suspended.  His  suspense  was  such  that 
he  always  contrived  to  be  somewhere  near  when  the  physi- 
cian took  his  departure,  and  from  him  he  was  informed  of 
her  condition  constantly.  Had  Hebe  then  offered  him  a 
goblet  of  nectar  he  would  have  dashed  it  to  earth.  He  knew 
when  his  boy  died;  he  saw  the  grave  hallowed  and  the 
tiny  coffin  lowered;  that  night  he  lay  upon  the  mound, 
with  the  bible  Alice  had  given  him  in  his  school  days, 
clasped  in  his  hand,  praying  God  to  listen  to  his  prodigal 
prayers,  to  strengthen  Lis  renewed  resolutions. 

The  messenger  had  not  far  to  go,  who  was  sent  for  him. 
The  doctor  had  informed  him  that  he  should  order  Lucy's 
wishes  attended  to.  He,  with  Mrs.  Van  Duyn  and  Alice, 
sat  in  the  outer  room  when  Parke  passed  through  to  the 
sick-chamber.  He  did  not  look  at  them,  but  passed  with  a 
(jiiiek,  liglit  step  to  his  wife's  bedside. 

"Parke  I"      . 


240  THE  senator's  son. 

He  bowed  his  head  upon  that  thin  hand  and  wet  it  with 
his  tears.  A  faint  pressure  of  her  attenuated  fingers  and  a 
wan  smile  was  all  the  welcome  she  could  give  him. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  die  ?^'  he  asked,  gazing  eagerly 
into  her  face. 

'*No  —  I  feel  better  this  noon/'  she  whispered. 

In  ten  brief  moments  the  physician  separated  them; 
but  Lucy  knew  that  her  husband  was  under  the  same  roof, 
and  she  sank  into  a  refreshing  sleep. 

It  was  many  weeks  before  she  recovered  strength  so  as 
to  return  to  her  own  home.  In  the  meantime  Alice  had 
found  a  refuge,  pale  and  weary  dove  !  with  Mrs.  Crawford 
As  Mr.  Crawford  was  gone,  to  be  absent  a  year  in  the  west 
attending  to  extensive  agencies,  she  was  delighted  to  gel 
her  adopted  daughter  back  again.  Not  even  to  her  did  Al- 
ice confide  the  truth  that  she  was  deserted.  Comparatively 
happy  to  escape  from  daily  persecutions,  she  made  an  efi'ort 
to  regain  some  portion  of  her  j^outhful  vivacity.  But  her 
spirits  had  been  too  long  strained  to  an  unnatural  tension ; 
they  would  not  spring  back  with  the  old  buoyancy. 

With  no  one  who  was  meet  to  be  her  companion,  Lucy 
and  Parke  absorbed  in  each  other,  and  no  one  of  her  own 
age,  in  whose  society  to  recover  herself,  she  drooped,  grow- 
ing more  silent,  lily-like,  and  fragile  every  day. 


CHAPTER    X. 

In  a  small  dwelling,  upon  the  outskirts  of  a  western  vil- 
lage, a  lamp  burned  late  at  night.  Snow  was  heaped  about 
the  stcpS;  and  upon  the  casement,  which  rattled  to  the  tune 
of  a  disconsolate  wind.  Within,  a  woman  of  twenty-five, 
her  chair  and  table  drawn  close  to  the  stove,  was  busy  with 
some  motherly  employment,  A  box  of  water-color  paints, 
with  brushes  and  drawing  utensils,  occupied  a  portion  of 
the  small  table,  but  these  were  not  now  in  use.  A  pair  of 
small  stockings,  that  had  been  darned  for  the  fiftieth  time, 
lay  beside  them,  and  the  solitary  worker,  shivering  over  the 
stove,  which  contained  only  the  pretence  of  a  fire,  wa«  busily 
sewing  up  the  rents  in  a  pair  of  shabby  shoes.  A  little 
girl,  about  four  years  of  age,  lay  asleep  in  her  crib,  the 
clothes  tucked  warmly  about  her ;  unconscious,  during  the 
blessed  rest  of  childhood,  of  the  care  her  mother  was  giving 
to  her  humble  apparel.  She  had  placed  the  patched  shoes 
beside  the  stockings,  and  was  proceeding  with  a  weary  air 
to  wash  out  a  couple  of  aprons  in  a  kettle  of  water  that 
21 


242  _      THE  senator's  son. 

stood  upon  the  stove,  when  the  sound  of  an  unsteady  step, 
and  a  hand  feeling  for  the  latch,  arrested  her.  She  hastily 
hid  the  painting  materials  in  a  drawer  of  the  stand,  before 
she  unfastened  the  door, 

''  What  the  deuce  do  you  keep  a  fellow  standing  all 
night  in  the  cold  for?''  grumbled  a  cross  voice,  as  a  per- 
son, who  had  once  been  a  gentleman,  stumbled  over  the 
threshold. 

^'  I  came  as  quickly  as  I  could." 

"  No,  you  didn't  come  as  quickly  as  you  could.  Do 
you  call  this  a  fire  ?  a  pretty  way  to  treat  a  man  when  he  is 
out  until  midnight,  to  come  home  and  find  no  fire,  and  the 
weather  cold  enough  to  freeze  the ." 

He  sat  down  and  commenced  rubbing  his  hands  to 
warm  them,  glaring  half  angrily,  half  stupidly  at  the 
hearth;  while  his  wife  wrung  out  the  aprons  and  hung 
them  upon  a  chair. 

'^  I  say,  Lucy,  where' s  that  five  dollars  you  got  to-day  ?  " 
he  suddenly  exclaimed,  lifting  up  his  head. 

"  What  five  dollars  ?  —  what  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asked, 
with  an  endeavor  to  look  unconcerned,  but  a  slight  flush 
arose  to  her  care-worn  cheek. 

"  Now,  don't  pretend  ignorance  in  that  style.  I  mean 
the  five  dollars  that  you  got  for  painting  little  James  Kin- 
ney. I  know  that  you  have  it,  for  his  father  told  me  to- 
day that  he  had  just  paid  it  to  you." 

*' Mr.  Kinney  is  a  villain!''  burst  from  the  indignant 
lips  of  the  wife. 


THE    senator's    SON.  243 

Mr.  Kinney  was  a  grocer,  whose  little  boy's  miniature 
she  had  done  for  the  contemptible  sum  of  six  dollars ;  and 
when  she  called  for  her  pay  he  had  the  heartlessness  to  tell 
her  that  her  husband  owed  him  nearly  that  for  liquor. 
Perhaps  the  arrows  of  scorn  and  resentment  which  shot 
from  the  lips  and  eyes  of  a  woman  like  Lucy  Madison  had 
wounded  him  in  the  only  tender  part  of  his  heart,  his 
vanity ;  for  he  doggedly  paid  her  the  money  she  had  earned, 
except  one  dollar  which  she  took  in  sugar,  coffee,  and  tea. 
But  you  injure  the  self-esteem  of  such  a  man  and  he  will 
be  revenged.  The  grocer's  casual  mention  to  his  customer 
of  the  picture  his  wife  had  painted,  and  the  sum  he  had 
paid  for  it,  was  not  so  carelessly  done  as  it  appeared  to  be. 

*'  I  say,  Lute,  I  want  that  money !'' 

^'  You  cannot  have  it.  I  have  imperative  use  for  every 
penny." 

^^And  so  have  L  Confound  it!  I've  drank  nothing 
but  whiskey  for  a  month.  And  to-morrow  I  am  bound  to 
have  a  high ;  on  genuine  brandy,  too,  such  as  a  gentleman 
ought  to  drink.'^ 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  spend  it  for  the  children, 
Parke  ?  Carrie  has  no  shoes ;  nor  stockings  either,  for  that 
matter,  that  are  fit  to  wear.  Besides,  we  are  out  of  wood, 
and  yet  you  complain  of  the  fire." 

"  Oh,  nonsense.  Lute,  let  me  have  the  money." 

^'  I  must  not,  and  I  shall  not,"  she  replied  firmly.  ^'  It 
is  after  one  o'clock,  and  you  had  better  go  to  bed." 

A  baby,  lying  in  its  parents'  bed,  awaked  at  the  sound 


244  THE  senator's  son. 

of  their  voices,  and  began  to  cry.  Lucy  went  to  it  and 
was  soothing  it,  while  its  drunken  father  stumbled  around 
the  room,  searching  in  drawers,  cupboard,  and  corners,  for 
the  coveted  five  dollars.     He  could  not  find  them. 

''  If  you  don't  tell  me  where  it  is,  I  will  beat  you  to 
death,"  he  said,  stamping  his  foot  upon  the  floor,  when  he 
found  his  search  to  be  in  vain. 

She  laid  down  her  child  and  turned  towards  him. 

^^  Parke,  if  I  give  it  to  you,  it  will  do  no  good,  and  the 
children  will  suffer.  I  will  not  do  it  for  their  sakes,  nor 
for  your  own.     You  are  better  without  it." 

"Where  is  it?"  he  demanded,  with  increasing  fury, 
regarding  that  slender  woman  with  a  threatening  air  which 
might  well  make  her  secretly  tremble,  though  she  tried  to 
be  brave,  at  the  thought  of  her  little  ones.  She  folded  her 
arms  over  her  swelling  heart  and  stood  silent  and  pale. 

With  an  oath  he  seized  the  kettle  from  the  stove  and 
hurled  its  contents  towards  her.  The  fire  had  truly  burned 
low,  but  the  kettle  was  placed  immediately  above  the  wast- 
ing embers  and  retained  enough  heat  to  be  dangerous. 

It  was  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  —  she  forgot  her 
child  —  she  stepped  aside  —  and  the  scalding  water  fell  into 
Carrie's  crib.  The  piercing  screams  of  the  little  sufferer 
startled  the  midnight  echoes.  The  mother  snatched  up  lu^r 
darling,  and  ran  wildly  about  the  room,  holding  her  to  Lt» 
bosom,  too  distracted  to  think  of  any  means  for  her  relief 
At  last  she  sank  into  a  chair,  and  tore  the  night-slip  from 
that  quivering  form.     One  side  of  the  face,  neck,  and  chest. 


•  THE  senator's  son.  245 

and  one  arm,  were  dreadfully  scalded ;  as  the  dress  was  re- 
moved, the  blistered  skin  came  with  it,  leaving  the  flesh 
exposed  and  inflicting  such  excruciating  agony  that  the  child 
went  into  convulsions. 

''  Will  you  go  for  some  one  —  will  you  do  something?" 
cried  the  wretched  mother  to  the  man  who  stood  like  a 
stone,  sobered  by  those  shrieks  of  pain  and  appalled  at  his 
own  deed.  '^  For  a  doctor  —  a  doctor  I—  there  is  one  upon 
this  street,  quick!''  He  went  out  with  so  stupid  a  look, 
that  gazing  upon  those  spasms  of  pain  she  hesitated  whether 
she  should  not  leave  the  poor  child  alone,  while  she,  herself, 
ran  for  aid.  Fortunately  the  physician  was  returning  from 
a  very  sick  patient  whom  he  had  been  called  up  to  visit,  and 
encountered  Mr.  Madison,  before  he  had  taken  six  steps. 
He  returned  with  him. 

"  How  does  this  happen.  Madam  ?  " 

He  looked  around  upon  the  drunkard's  home  and  needed 
no  other  reply.  He  took  the  little  girl,  and  gave  such  di- 
rections as  Lucy  had  gained  composure  enough  to  follow. 
The  wounds  were  soon  dressed,  in  as  soothing  a  manner  as 
possible,  and  the  exhausted  child  laid  carefully  on  a  pre- 
pared bed  where  her  mother  sat  by  her  side  the  rest  of  the 
night,  listening  to  her  feeble  moans  with  an  aching  heart. 
Overcome  by  heavy  sleep,  the  author  of  this  misery  lay  be- 
fore the  stove,  drawing  long  and  noisy  inspirations,  and 
filling  the  apartment  with  the  odors  of  his  corrupted  breath. 
The  physician  had  assured  her  that  the  burns  were  not  deep 


21 


246  THE    senator's    SOX. 

enougli  to  be  dangerous,  unless  that  upon  the  chest  proved 
more  serious  than  he  anticipated. 

"  I  am  almost  tempted  to  vote  for  the  Maine-law  men, 
after  the  scene  which  I  have  witnessed  to-night/'  he  told 
his  wife,  as  he  returned  to  the  comfortable  bed  from  which 
he  had  been  roused.  '^  I  can't  do  it  very  consistently,  ei- 
ther, for  there  are  not  three  of  them  who  belong  to  our 
party ;  and,  after  all,  if  men  will  make  fools  and  beasts  of 
themselves,  I  don't  know  who  has  a  right  to  interfere." 

"  The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,"  and  none  may 
know  what  bitterness  filled  Lucy  Madison's  during  her 
watch  that  night. 

Within  less  than  a  year  after  the  birth  of  their  second 
child  the  farm  had  gone  from  Parke's  hands.  His  sister 
Alice  could  furnish  him  with  no  further  means,  and  Mr. 
Crawford  did  not  feel  bound  to  do  it.  After  gathering  to- 
gether the  small  remnant  of  their  property,  he  found  that 
there  was  enough  to  take  them  to  some  western  village, 
within  whose  thriving  precincts  he  was  sure  some  employ- 
ment could  be  found.  And  so  there  could  have  been  for  a 
steady  and  energetic  poor  man.  But  what  was  there  for 
him,  or  what  would  he  do  if  work  was  furnished,  Lucy 
asked  herself  and  him.  There  was  no  living  for  them  in 
the  city,  however.  Finding  him  bent  upon  going,  and  think- 
ing it  the  best  that  could  be  done,  Mr.  Crawford  offered 
him  some  business,  which  his  knowledge  of  the  law  made 
him   peculiarly  compeient  to  transact,   in   the    village    of 


THE   senator's   SON.  247 


A ,  ill  a  western  State.     Luc}^  was  urged  by  all  her 

friends  to  remain  behind  with  her  mother,  at  least  until  it 
was  seen  whether  Parke  met  with  any  success.  She  was 
strongly  tempted  to  do  so.  She  felt  homesick  at  the  very 
thought  of  parting  with  the  scenes  of  her  youth ;  and  both 
terror  and  loneliness  at  the  idea  of  going  into  a  strange  place 
with  a  husband  who  she  well  knew  would  bring  mortifica- 
tion and  disgrace  upon  her,  instead  of  procuring  for  her  and 
himself  that  position  which  she  was,  and  he  had  been,  en- 
titled to.  Duty  as  well  as  affection  whispered,  "  for  better, 
for  worse.''  Striving  nobly  to  overcome  her  repinings,  she 
bade  a  tearful  farewell  to  all  endeared  associations,  and  with 
beautiful  little  Carrie  for  her  consolation,  went  with  him  to 
sojourn  in  a  strange  land.  For  a  short  time,  pride  restrained 
.  Mr.  Madison  from  his  worst  excesses.  His  reputation  as  the 
son  of  the  late  senator  Madison,  the  known  excellence  and 
fame  of  his  family,  pro-  ired  for  him  a  cordial  welcome  in 

the  limited  society  of  A .     His  wife  was  esteemed  as 

a  most  accomplished  and  dignified  woman.  They  took  a 
small  house  and  furnished  it  plainly.  Lucy's  guitar  and 
their  books  was  about  all  th-A  they  retained  of  their  former 
splendor  ;  but  good  taste  and  refinement  presided  over  their 
poverty,  and  all  would  have  been  well  had  Parke  continued 
in  respectable  habits.  His  restraint  soon  wore  off,  and 
where  he  had  been  regarded  as  a  dissipated  gentleman  he 
soon  found  himself  a  wretched  debauchee. 

Although  Lucy  had  anticipated  severe  trials,  hundreds 
that  were  unlooked  for  pressed  upon  her.     Parke's  situation 


248  THE  senator's  son. 

was  a  sinecure;  a  respectable  income  and  nothing  of  any 
account  to  do.  Every  dollar  though,  which  he  received, 
was  wasted  in  self-indulgence.  As  long  as  he  had  the 
means,  he  got  drunk  bravely  and  fashionably  upon  wine, 
with  cards  and  friends,  and  dishes  of  oysters.  Want  in- 
truded its  pinched  face  within  their  doors.  Lucy  adver- 
tised as  an  artist,  and  for  a  time  received  considerable  pat- 
ronage. Upon  these  earnings  she  supported  the  household 
expenses.  She  secluded  herself  entirely  within  her  humble 
home.  Ashamed  of  her  husband,  she  felt  unpleasantly  to 
receive  respect  and  attention  which  was  no  longer  shown  to 
him.  Friends  and  well-wishers  she  had,  but  they  were 
strangers.  They  pitied  secretly,  though  they  dared  not  con- 
dole. She  shrank  alike  from  pity  and  condolence.  Her 
wardrobe  began  to  grow  shabby,  and  she  had  no  purse  from 
which  to  replenish  it.  Her  health,  too,  became  poor;  so 
that  in  solitude  and  loneliness  the  days  passed  away.  She 
would  have  sunk  under  her  afflictions  had  not  Carrie  been  a 
constant  source  of  diversion,  something  to  love,  to  live,  to 
hope,  to  work  for.  With  her  own  hands  Lucy  performed 
the  household  labor  until  nearly  the  time  that  her  third 
child  was  born.  She  was  attended  through  her  illness  by 
kind  neighbors,  who  watched  and  nursed  her,  and  brought 
numberless  delicacies  to  tempt  her  dainty  appetite.  She 
was  grateful  for  their  attention  and  care,  without  which  she 
would  have  suffered  much  more  than  she  did;  but  they 
were  not  to  her  like  her  mother  and  Alice  and  Mrs.  Smythe. 
He  who  should  have  made  every  effort  to  lighten  the  tedi- 


THE  senator's  son.  249 

ousness  of  her  invalid  hours,  was  passing  the  time  in  sa- 
loons and  grog-shops,  careless  of  her  comfort  and  forgetful 
of  her  loneliness.  Great  drops  would  roll  down  her  cheeks 
and  fall  upon  her  little  baby's  face,  as  he  lay  upon  her  bo- 
som, while  with  a  sigh  the  words  would  break  from  her 
lips  as  if  they  could  no  longer  be  repressed  — 

^^  Oh  !  if  I  could  see  my  mother  once  more  !  oh,  if  Al- 
ice was  only  here  to  stay  with  me  I '' 

When  she  recovered  so  as  to  go  about  the  house,  she 
found  a  sad  lack  even  of  the  necessities  of  life.  With  an 
infant  in  her  arms,  little  Carrie  to  do  for,  and  the  family 
work  to  perform,  she  had  no  leisure  for  painting.  That 
source  of  income  was  cut  off;  besides,  those  who  were 
pleased  with  her  work,  had  nearly  all  employed  her  before 
this,  and  she  had  but  few  opportunities  of  profiting  by  her 
talents. 

During  the  summer,  it  was  the  second  summer  of  their 

stay  in  A ,  these  privations  could  be  endured.     A 

fire  was  not  necessary,  nor  warm  clothing ;  and  she  and  the 
children  could  fare  content  upon  simple  food.  With  cold 
weather,  matters  grew  infinitely  worse.  As  Parke  neglected 
what  little  business  he  had  to  do,  his  receipts  thereupon 
grew  less.  Bad  liquor  —  mean,  contemptible  stuff  (not  but 
that  the  best  is  bad  enough)  —  was  his  food,  drink,  and 
clothing.  He  took  it  from  a  dirty  glass,  at  a  dirty  bar,  and 
then  lounged  in  dirty  attire  upon  a  dirty  bench.      This  was 

Parke  Madison !     The  dwellers  of  the  town  of  A , 

who  passed  one  of  its  numerous  grog-shops,  might  cast  care- 


250  THE  senator's  son. 

less  glances  upon  the  shabby  man,  sunning  his  rusty  broad- 
cloth in  the  door  or  upon  the  vagabond's  seat,  without  a 
suspicion  that  he  had  once  been  the  Count  D'Orsay  of 
New  York.  A  lingering  of  gentility  there  was  about  him, 
a  nicety  of  language,  a  courtliness  sometimes  in  his  drunken 
dignity  •  and  some  remains  of  his  former  beauty ;  but  noth- 
ino;  else  to  distinguish  him  from  the  lowest  sot  who  laid 
his  sixpence  upon  the  bar  and  swallowed  his  abominable 
whiskey. 

Lucy  disposed  of  her  guitar  —  she  had  no  heart  to 
touch  its  strings  to  sweetness  now  —  for  money  to  buy  a 
couple  of  cords  of  wood  and  a  barrel  of  flour.  From  her 
own  worn-out  attire  she  could  still  fashion  comfortable  gar- 
ments for  the  children.  The  first  part  of  the  winter  passed 
until  at  the  time  when  we  have  seen  her  in  her  miserable 
home  sitting  up  until  after  midnight,  to  await  a  brutal  hus- 
band, and  to  eke  out  the  means  of  a  wretched  subsistence. 
There  were  some  chairs,  a  pretty  sewing-stand,  a  carpet,  and 
some  knick-knacks  in  her  little  sitting-room,  which  pride 
had  forbidden  her  to  dispose  of,  and  which  prudence  sug- 
gested her  to  reserve  against  a  case  of  actual  starvation. 

When  the  grocer  had  come  to  have  his  boy's  miniature 
painted,  she  was  not  aware  of  who  he  was.  She  kept  her 
work  concealed  from  Parke,  for  she  knew  that  he  would 
possess  himself  of  the  proceeds;  and  was  carefully  calculat- 
ing in  what  manner  the  money  could  be  most  judiciously 
distributed  among  so  many  wants.  She  was  indignant  to 
find  that  she  had  been  employed  by  one  of  those  vampires 


THE    senator's    SON.  251 

wlio  preyed  upon  the  weakness  of  her  husband ;  and  when 
Mr.  Kinney  would  have  reserved  her  dearly-earned  dues  to 
pay  the  score  of  his  most  constant  customer,  her  resentment 
had  taken  some  words  and  looks  which  smarted  his  small 
soul  with  a  sting  which  would  not  be  appeased  until  he  had 
applied  the  balm  of  his  characteristic  revenge. 

Here  were  some  of  the  consequences.  The  mother 
watched  by  her  suffering  child.  Bitter  feelings  arose.  Her 
sense  of  duty  transferred  itself  from  her  husband  to  her 
children.  He  had  chosen  his  own  lot  —  they  were  helpless, 
and  she  was  their  natural  protector.  She  blamed  herself 
for  so  long  exposing  them  to  the  dangers  of  their  father's 
presence.  She  resolved  that  the  coming  day  she  would 
write  to  Alice,  and  implore  her  to  seek  from  her  friends  the 
means  for  her  return  to  them. 

Circumstances  had  changed  in  the  old  home.  The  sis- 
ter next  younger  was  happily  married,  residing  in  the  cot- 
tage, and  having  her  mother  and  Katy  with  her,  while 
Willy  had  gone  to  his  Uncle  Nold's.  But  Lucy  knew  that 
somewhere  they  would  cheerfully  find  a  place  for  her  and 
her  little  ones.  She  did  not  despair  of  being  able  to  sup- 
port them  well,  if  left  unmolested  to  her  own  resources. 
For  the  first  time,  she  saw  plainly  that  she  was  under  no 
farther  obligations  to  live  with  one  who  was  no  longer  a 
man,  but  a  something  worse  than  brute.  This  was  not  the 
person  with  whom  she  had  stood  at  the  altar  —  the  man, 
endowed  with  intellect,  reason,  judgment,  heart,  and  tliosc 
a:t:ibutes  which  distinguish  the  immortal  from  the  least. 


252 


THE   SENATOR  S    SON. 


This  was  a  sot,  with  whom  it  was  an  outrage  upon  refine- 
ment or  decency  to  live  —  this  was  a  madman  with  whom 
it  was  dangerous  to  be  associated  —  this  was  an  animal  who 
had  nearly  drowned  all  indications  of  soul  or  mind  in  the 
burning  bowl. 

Her  resolution  was  taken.  If  God  spared  poor  Carrie's 
life,  she  should  never  again  be  the  victim  of  a  father's  in- 
sanity. She  counted  up  the  weeks  until  she  could  return 
by  the  lake.  It  would  be  an  impossibility  almost  to  travel 
by  stage,  with  two  such  small  children.  It  was  nearly  the 
first  of  March.  Courage  —  courage  !  she  whispered  to  her- 
self. "  If  it  be  necessary,  I  can  at  least  claim  the  protec- 
tion of  the  law,  and  have  him  imprisoned.  Anything  to 
save  my  children." 

Even  with  the  moans  of  the  sufierer  setting  her  nerves 
in,  a  tremble,  she  felt  a  sense  of  relief.  A  crushing  burden 
seemed  lifted  from  her  shoulders  —  that  feeling  of  '  duty  ^ 
which  had  weighed  upon  her  heart  and  prevented  her  taking 
any  steps  for  her  own  comfort  or  her  babies.  The  thought 
that  she  could  leave  this  disgusting  companion  —  be  free 
from  his  foul  breath,  his  curses,  and  hateful  caresses,  and 
yet  do  him  no  wrong,  came  over  her  with  a  thrill  of  strength 
and  hope.  Her  love  had  departed.  She  loved  the  Parke 
Madison  of  old  with  a  passionate,  regretful  love,  as  one 
mourns  for  a  friend  who  is  dead ;  but  this  Parke  Madison 
she  could  not  love.  Soul  and  sense  refused  to  be  enchanted 
with  such  loathsomeness. 

Wlien  day  dawned  upon  them,  it  found  Lucy  shivering 


THE  senator's  son.  253 

with  cokl,  wrapped  in  a  large  shawl,  Carrie  sleeping  under 
the  influence  of  an  opiate,  and  Parke  rousing  from  his 
heavy  slumber.  Grumbling  at  the  freezing  state  of  afijiirs, 
and  rubbing  his  shoulders,  which  ached  with  their  repose 
upon  the  floor,  he  arose  and  stared  at  his  wife. 

"  What  are  you  up  for  ?  you  look  as  if  you  had  been 
sitting  there  all  night." 

She  pointed  to  the  bed;  he  approached  and  gazed  at 
the  poor  little  form  lying  there  swathed  in  bandages.  As 
recollection  of  the  scenes  of  the  night  broke  upon  him, 
some  thrilling  screams  rang  again  in  his  ears,  his  lips  trem- 
bled as  he  spoke  with  an  effort  — 

^^  I  suppose  this  is  some  of  the  work  of  that  cursed 
whiskey." 

"  It  is  a  work  which  will  bring  you  more  sorrow  than 
it  has  your  victim.  As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in  Heaven, 
such  things  as  these  will  bring  retribution  \" 

''  I  know  it  —  they  will ! "  —  he  shook  with  cold  and 
fear. 

"  Have  you  no  fire  ? "  he  asked,  to  turn  the  subject ; 
shall  I  build  one  up  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  wood.  This  is  no  place  for  you,  either. 
Sir;  I  shall  not  complain  of  you  this  time,  though  the 
neighbors  will  probably  see  fit  to  have  you  placed  in  safety ; 
but,  if  you  dare  to  enter  these  doors  again  while  Carrie 
lies  here  in  this  condition,  I  will  no  longer  forbear.  You 
shall  have  a  home  in  the  county-jail,  where  it  will  be  impos- 
sible for  you  to  beat  your  wife  or  burn  your  children." 
90 


254  THE  senator's  son. 

"  Why,  Lucy  !  I  never  heard  you  quite  so  bitter  before. 
But  I  suppose  I  deserve  it.  I  shall  see  first  if  I  can  get 
anything  for  a  fii-e^  and  then  go,  if  I  must.  Where  do  you 
expect  me  to  sleep  ?  at  the  tavern  ?  You  might  at  least 
then  give  me  a  little  money  to  pay  for  a  bed,  since  you 
know  I  cannot  get  trusted." 

Her  look  of  contempt  would  have  blasted  a  man  in  his 
senses ;  he  only  continued  in  a  whining  tone  — 

"  Come  !  do  be  a  little  generous  with  your  husband." 

As  she  made  no  reply,  he  went  out  into  the  wood-shed, 
looked  up  a  board,  split  it  to  pieces,  and  with  some  barks 
that  were  lying  about,  kindled  quite  a  cheerful  fire.  He 
also  filled  the  tea-kettle  and  put  it  on  the  stove. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  get  us  a  little  breakfast  first?"  he 
next  inquired,  lingering  by  the  fire,  while  Lucy  took  up  her 
baby  and  nursed  him. 

As  she  made  no  move  to  do  so,  he  ground  some  coifee  in 
the  mill,  and  had  just  got  it  finely  boiling,  and  was  slicing 
some  bread  and  butter,  when  the  doctor's  step  at  the  door 
arrested  him.  As  Lucy  opened  it,  he  dodged  into  the  sit- 
ting-room, afraid  and  ashamed  to  be  seen.  As  the  physi- 
cian's call  promised  to  be  a  long  one,  and  as  he  began  ty 
feel  the  need  of  his  morning  bitters,  he  helped  himself  to  a 
handsomely-bound  volume  of  Longfellow's  poems,  which  he 
hid  in  his  coat  and  crept  out  the  door,  provided  with  thf 
means  of  obtaining  a  day's  whiskey. 

Doctor  Browning  was  a  humane  man  who  visited  Life 
poor  patients  almost  as  cheerfully  as  he  did  his  rich  one.«i. 


THE   senator's    SON.  255 

Familiar  as  lie  was  with  poverty  and  distress,  he  was  touched 
by  the  noble  demeanor  of  Mrs.  Madison,  so  superior  to  the 
station  in  which  he  found  her.  In  a  kind  and  delicate  man- 
ner, he  informed  her  that  if  she  was  in  want  of  any  com- 
fort, she  must  not  hesitate  to  let  him  know  it.  She  smiled 
sadly  as  she  went  to  the  Bible  which  lay  on  the  mantel  and 
took  from  between  its  leaves  five  dollars. 

"  You  see  I  am  not  quite  destitute,"  she  said.  ^^  If  you 
will  do  me  the  favor  to  take  two  dollars  and  send  a  load  of 
wood  here ;  I  cannot  go  out  to  look  for  it ;  and,  as  you  see, 
I  have  none.'' 

"Ah!"  he  gave  a  little  sympathetic  shiver  at  the 
thought  of  a  February  day  and  no  fire.  You  shall  have  it 
in  less  than  an  hour.  Madam.  And  if  you  will  consent,  T 
will  speak  to  my  niece  —  she's  a  pleasant,  warm-hearted 
girl,  and  will  be  glad  to  come  —  to  stay  with  you  this  after- 
noon and  evening.  She  will  be  very  gentle  with  the  little 
girl  —  a  good  nurse  is  Miss  Mary." 

Mrs.  Madison  thanked  him  gratefully.  He  lingered 
with  his  hand  upon  the  door-latch. 

"  And,  my  dear  Madam,  if  you  wish  to  get  rid  of  your 
troublesome  husband,  we  have  a  place  where  he  will  have  a 
quiet  chance  to  reflect  upon  his  conduct.  I  will  have  him 
taken  care  of,  if  you  say  so ;  it  is  my  opinion  that  it  had 
better  be  done." 

"  I  have  warned  him  not  to  return  here,"  replied  Lucy, 
a  faint  blush  mounting  to  her  temples.  "  If  he  does,  I  will 
inform  you,  and  you  may  take  what  steps  you  please." 


256  THE  senator's  son. 

"  Yery  well.  But  remember  your  children,  Mrs.  Mad- 
ison, and  do  not  be  too  merciful.'' 

He  bowed  respectfully  and  went  away.  A  load  of  wood, 
and  a  man  to  prepare  it,  were  soon  at  the  door.  It  was 
hardly  noon,  before  the  niece  of  Dr.  Browning,  Miss  Mary 
Browning,  made  her  appearance,  prepared  to  stay  through 
the  day  and  night.  She  was  an  amiable,  rosy-cheeked  girl, 
to  whom  the  baby  took  immediately,  laughing  and  crowing 
back  answers  to  her  smiles.  Her  hands  were  skilful  in 
holding  and  soothing  the  little  sufferer ;  and  she  let  more 
than  one  tear  fall  amid  the  golden  curls  fastened  back  from 
that  poor,  tortured  neck  and  cheek.  Perhaps  the  mother 
saw  these  compassionate  drops,  for  Mary  had  not  been  with 
her  an  hour,  before  she  felt  both  love  and  gratitude  towards 
her.  As  for  Mary,  she  had  conceived  a  kind  of  girlish 
worship  for  Mrs.  Madison  from  the  first  moment  she  beheld 
those  beautiful  brown  eyes  and  heard  those  sweet,  touching 
cadences  in  her  voice.  She  would  follow  every  movement 
of  that  elegant  figure  with  secret  attention,  wondering  from 
what  circle  of  brightness  this  star  had  dropped  to  so  forlorn  a 
sphere.  Bits  of  poetry  would  come  into  her  head — romances 
of  a  princess  in  disguise  —  all  the  stories  she  had  ever  read  of 
fallen  fortunes  and  the  inebriate's  home.  Hitherto  she  had 
thought  that  only  low,  ignorant  people  became  drunkards 
—  at  least  such  drunkards  as  Mr.  Madison  was  a  specimen 
of — and  that  their  wives,  although  to  be  pitied,  were  some- 
how incapable  of  very  sensitive  feeling,  and  that  sympathy 
would  be  somewhat  wasted  upon  them.     She  had  enter- 


THE   senator's   SON.  257 

tainecl  a  dim  idea  that  when  drunkards'  children  had  their 
limbs  broken,  or  fell  into  the  fire,  or  had  hot  water  throwu 
upon  them,  that  the  limbs  undoubtedly  ached  and  the 
burns  smarted,  but  not  with  any  such  pain  as  would  set 
the  whole  village  in  commotion  had  it  chanced  to  her  own 
pretty  cousin,  or  to  Lawyer  Harris'  beautiful  little  boy. 
Here,  however,  she  saw  a  child,  whose  shining  ringlets  and 
f^iir  complexion,  whose  violet  eyes  and  dimpled  hands,  might 
awaken  the  pity  of  these  fastidious  people  who  were  insen- 
sible to  other  distress  than  that  of  refinement  and  beauty 
afilicted.  She  saw  a  woman,  born  to  queenliness  of  station, 
dragged  down  to  share  her  husband's  disgrace.  She  would 
have  done  just  as  much  for  the  most  ignorant;  every 
fellow-creature  had  claims  upon  her  attention  and  kind- 
ness ;  but  what  she  often  did  out  of  pity  she  now  did  out 
of  love. 

Several  people  were  in  during  the  day.  Numberless 
little  gifts  accompanied  their  visits ',  a  pitcher  of  milk  for 
the  baby,  a  basket  of  pippins,  a  large  paper  of  sweet  crack- 
ers for  Carrie  to  eat  when  she  got  well  enough,  and  the  like. 
Doctor  Browning  dressed  the  burns  again  in  the  afternoon. 
Mary  iron^  the  aprons,  played  with  the  baby,  brought  in 
the  wood  for  night,  made  her  bed  while  the  mother  held 
Carrie,  and  did  all  that  there  was  to  be  done.  Mrs.  Madi- 
son was  enabled  to  set  out  a  very  well-spread  tea-table ;  and 
had  not  her  child  been  so  injured,  she  would  have  felt  a 
glow  of  comfort  in  her  heart  as  she  sat  opposite  to  her  bright- 
eyed  friend. 

22* 


•258  THE  senator's  son. 

There  was  scuetliing  so  caressing  and  genial  in  Mary's 
manner,  that  she  was  almost  unconsciously  led  on  to  speak 
of  things  long  past  and  obscured  by  the  darkness  of 
the  present.  As  they  were  putting  away  the  tea-things, 
their  conversation  chanced  upon  music.  Miss  Browning 
listened  with  delight  to  the  description  of  those  rare  singers 
and  great  performances  which  her  companion  gave  her ;  sh6 
sighed  to  hear  an  opera  and  see  a  prima  donna ;  to  sit  in 
the  midst  of  a  wilderness  of  jeweled  glasses,  bouquets,  and 
light,  and  behold  a  splendidly-dressed  cantatrice  come  out 
upon  the  boards  and  thrill  an  audience  with  the  wonders  of 
her  divine  execution ;  while  the  lorgnettes  were  all  leveled 
in  that  direction,  ditto  the  bouquets  —  then  an  exciting  mur- 
mur of  applause,  and  the  brilliant  prima  donna  bowing  low 
and  more  lowly,  smiling,  dropping  deep  courtsies  and  re- 
tiring. 

Mrs.  IMadison  could  not  help  laughing,  as  the  fimciful 
girl,  who  had  read  and  imagined  so  much,  but  seen  noth- 
ing, ran  on  wdth  her  voluble  wishes.  Mary,  who  played 
the  piano  tolerably,  was  anxious  to  take  lessons  on  the 
guitar;  and  she  promised  when  Carrie  got  better  to  give 
them  to  her  if  she  remained  in  the  place  any  time. 

Speaking  of  the  guitar,  they  came  to  talk  of  Germany, 
and  from  that,  the  older  lady  spoke  of  her  own  family,  and 
of  her  mother  being  German  in  birth,  but  American  in  ed- 
ucation. At  ten  o'clock  that  evening,  Mrs.  Madison  was 
telling  in  tremulous  tones  something  of  her  history,  while 


THE  senator's  son.  259 

Mary  sat  at  her  feet,  with  her  head  in  her  lap,  sobbing  in 
sympathy  with  her  new  friend. 

"  This  will  never  do  to  sit  here  disconsolate  all  night," 
she  said,  with  a  return  of  her  natural  gayety.  "  You  must 
go  to  bed,  Mrs.  Madison,  and  sleep  as  securely  as  you  have 
a  mind.  I  will  put  on  my  dressing-gown  and  lie  here  upon 
the  lounge,  where  I  can  hear  the  slightest  moan  that  little 
Carrie  makes,  I  will  take  good  care  of  her." 

"Are  the  doors  fastened?''  asked  Lucy,  trying  them 
all  before  she  ventured  to  undress.  She  was  worn  out,  and 
needed  rest  so  much,  that  she  willingly  obeyed  the  dictates 
of  her  companion,  and  was  just  in  bed  by  the  side  of  her 
baby,  when  she  heard  her  husband's  knock  at  the  door. 

'^  He  has  come,"  she  whispered,  slipping  out  of  bed  and 
putting  on  her  dress;  "but  we  must  not  let  him  in." 

"  Of  course  not,"  responded  Mary ;  "  he  must  find  other 
lodging  this  night,  as  sure  as  I  am  Mary  Browning." 

A  thundering  rap  at  the  door  set  the  baby  awake  and 
crying.  Its  mother  hushed  it  at  her  breast,  and  her  friend 
went  to  make  sure  that  the  other  door  was  secure. 

"  Can't  you  hear  a  fellow  knock  when  he's  knocked  his 
knuckles  off?"  they  heard  him  muttering  outside.  "Its 
a  pretty  pass  things  have  come  to,  when  a  gentleman's  wife 
locks  him  out  on  a  night  as  cold  as  the  Dickens.  What's 
the  use  of  having  a  wife?  Lucy!"  raising  his  voice, 
i(  L^cy  —  Lucy,  let  Mr.  Madison  come  in,  that's  a  lady  !  if 
you  don't  I  shall  go  back  to  Kinney's  and  sleep  with  old 


260  THE  senator's  son. 

Peter,  and  he's  as  dirty  as  tlie  swine  —  got  the  measles  too, 
I  suspect.'^ 

Finding  that  this  threat  produced  no  eflfect,  his  temper 
rose  like  a  gust  of  wind,  as  he  rattled  at  the  door. 

^'  You'll  be  sorry,  if  ever  I  do  get  in  there  ! "  he  mum- 
bled, giving  a  kick  at  the  panels,  which  startled  Lucy  into  a 
faint  shriek. 

^^  He  will  burst  the  button  off!"  she  cried,  clasping  her 
hands.     The  door  was  only  secured  by  a  wooden  button. 

'^  And  if  he  does,  we  will  be  a  match  for  him,"  returned 
Miss  Browning,  taking  up  a  stick  of  wood.  "  Two  women 
ought  to  conquer  one  drunken  rascal." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  they  heard  him  going 
away  from  the  steps,  but  it  was  only  to  frighten  them  by 
crashing  in  a  pane  of  glass  at  the  window.  The  curtain 
protected  them  from  sight. 

"  Oh,  dear,  what  will  he  do,"  ejaculated  Lucy;  for  her 
experience  of  the  preceding  night  had  made  her  cowardly. 
Another  assault  upon  the  door  sent  the  button  so  nearly  off 
that  they  saw  their  defence  was  nearly  gone.  Mary  was 
a  courageous  girl  and  not  to  be  subdued. 

^'  Stand  here,  out  of  sight,  Mrs.  Madison,  I  am  going  to 
hold  a  parley  with  the  enemy." 

Laying  her  stick  close  at  hand,  she  opened  the  door. 
''  What  do  you  mean.  Sir,  disturbing  your  neighbors  at 
this  late  hour,  and  breaking  their  windows  ?     You  will  be 
fined  to-morrow  for  this  tumult.'^ 

^^  My  neighbors  ?  "  said  he,  putting  a  foot  on  the  thresh- 


THE   senator's   SON.  261 

old,  and  winking  at  her  with  one  eye,  "  perhaps  this  is  not 
my  house,  and  you  are  not  Lucy  Madison,  Esquire  ?  " 

*'  Well  I  am  I  ?  '^  she  asked,  turning  her  face  so  that 
the  lamp  shone  full  upon  it. 

"  Keally,  I  do  believe  it  isn't  you,  after  all,"  he  said, 
drawing  back ;  ^'  but  that's  Carrie's  crib,  I'll  be  sworn," 
catching  a  glimpse  at  it,  "  and  that's  our  bed  and  stove. 
^'  If  you  are  not  my  wife,  whose  are  yoa  ?  "  he  inquired, 
gazing  at  her  with  a  mixture  of  suspicion,  astonishment, 
and  incredulity. 

"  You  will  learn  to  your  satisfaction  when  Mr.  Brown 
gets  his  boots  on.  Sir.  Come  !  are  you  going  away  quietly 
to  the  tavern  where  you  belong,  or  will  you  wait  until  Mr. 
Brown  is  ready  to  accompany  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  go  back  to  Kinney's,  since  I  can't 
find  my  own  house.  I  was  certain  it  stood  here,  and  it  did 
this  morning;  but  I'll  be  bound  it  isn't  anywhere  in  the 
neighborhood  now.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Ma'am,  and  Mr. 
Brown's.  He  need  not  trouble  himself  to  see  me  home. 
But,  really,  I  was  sure  — 

While  he  took  a  puzzled  survey  of  the  premises,  Mary 
shut  the  door,  with  a  word  of  warning  against  stirring  up 
Mr.  Brown's  indignation  by  making  any  more  noise  at  their 
door.  As  they  heard  him  mutteringly  depart,  Mary  laughed 
over  her  stratagem  —  honorable  in  war  —  and  Lucy  again 
retired  to  her  couch. 

There  was  no  further  disturbance  that  night.  The  next 
day  Mary,  with  Mrs.  Madison's  consent,  informed  her  uncle 


Iw 


262 


THE    SENATOR  S    SON. 


of  the  affair,  and  Parke  was  arrested,  and  remained  in  the 
jail  for  the  next  three  weeks. 

Carrie  slowly  recovered  from  her  injuries;  but  that  dear 
cheek  and  once  lovely  neck  and  arm  were  so  cruelly  scarred, 
that  the  physician  would  not  promise  that  they  should  ever 
regain  their  smoothness  and  beauty. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

A  '  Maine-Law  '  banner  bad  been  hoisted  in  the  prin- 
cipal street  of  the  village  of  A ,  giving  its  blue  and 

white  folds  to  the  sultry  breezes  of  a  summer's  day,  A 
party  of  men  were  gathered  around  the  staff  from  which  it 
floated,  and  as  the  flag  had  just  been  placed  there,  their 
conversation  was  of  course  upon  the  subject. 

Lawyers,  politicians,  merchants,  mechanics,  and,  as  it 
chanced,  three  notorious  drunkards,  were  of  the  crowd. 
Some  listened  in  silence,  but  the  most  of  them  expressed 
their  opinion  for  or  against  the  Maine  Law,  and  its  adoption 
in  that  State.  One  or  two  of  the  politicians  made  short 
speeches,  explaining  the  grounds  upon  which  they  stood  in 
its  defence  or  condemnation. 

'^  I  propose,'^  said  a  gentleman  who  warmly  advocated 
the  law,  ''  that  we  listen  to  the  opinion  of  these  three  per- 
sons, whose  approval  or  disapproval  will  be  valuable,  since 
it  is  their  ^  rights'  which  arc  to  be  'interfered  with.'  " 


I 


264  THE  senator's  son. 

He  pointed  to  the  trio  of  sots  who  disgraced  the  village 
with  their  long-continued  excesses. 

"A3^e!  let  us  have  your  opinions,  gentlemen/'  cried 
another,  thinking  the  proposition  vastly  amusing. 

"  Yes  !"  added  a  non-advocate,  pleased  with  the  idea  — 
"  You,  Peter  Greene,  speak  fii'st ;  you  are  the  oldest,  the 
drunkest,  and  the  worst  of  the  three.  Come,  man,  rouse 
yourself,  and  tell  the  people  what  you  think  of  their  for- 
bidding you  your  privilege  of  taking  a  dram  when  you 
want  it.'' 

The  old  creature  got  upon  his  feet,  but  being  already 
considerably  intoxicated,  although  it  was  but  the  middle  of 
the  day,  he  found  it  difficult  to  keep  there. 

^^  We'll  sustain  you  —  opinions  and  all,"  laughed  some 
of  the  young  men,  taking  hold  of  his  arms,  and  keeping 
him  up.  '^  Speak  out  boldly,  Peter  Greene,  for  your  rights, 
or  perhaps  we  will  take  them  away." 

"  I  don't  know  much  what  you're  talking  about,"  he 
began  in  a  weak,  high-pitched  voice,  looking  at  the  non- 
advocate  with  red  eyes,  which  were  nearly  hidden  in  a 
bloated  mass.  '^  But  if  its  about  getting  drunk,  or  not 
getting  drunk,  why,  drink  as  much  whiskey  as  you  can  get ; 
and  when  you  can't  get  it  any  longer,  die,  and  go  to  the 
place  where  I  am  going  next  week !  Pll  tell  you  how  I 
knt)w.  Last  night,  as  I  lay  awake,  feelin'  mighty  unwell, 
I  saw  the  door  open,  and  a  real  gentleman,  dressed  all  in 
black,  came  in  —  he  looked  like  a  Doctor.  I  was  just  a 
going  to  ask  him  —  ^  Doctor,  what  do  you  think  is  the  mat- 


THE    SENATOR  S    SON.  265 

ter  with  me  ? '  when  I  sees  his  foot  sticking  out^  and  a  pair 
of  horns  on  his  head.  I  knew  the  rascal  by  them^  and  sat 
up  in  bed,  while  a  queer  kind  of  shiver  went  all  over  me. 

"  I  am  not  just  ready  to  go  jet/'  says  I,  thinkin'  he 
had  come  for  me.  "  I'm  owing  Stuck's  widder  for  making 
me  these  pants  as  much  as  two  years  ago,  and  I'd  like  to 
settle  up  my  affairs  first.'^ 

''  Very  well/^  says  he,  with  a  polite  bow,  and  speaking 
like  a  gentleman,  '^  I  didn't  expect  you  to  go  along  to- 
night; I  only  called  to  let  ye  know  that  I'd  be  coming  for 
you  next  week.'' 

"  Its  very  good  of  you  to  let  me  know,"  says  I. 

"  Where's  your  bottle  of  rum  ?''  says  he. 

"  Its  in  the  closet/'  says  I ;  "  won't  you  step  in  and 
take  a  little  ?  you're  welcome." 

"  Thank  ye,"  says  he ;  and  goes  into  the  closet  after  the 
bottle,  and  I  up  like  a  streak  and  shuts  him  in  and  kept 
him  'til  mornin'.  I  could  hear  him  all  night  a-beggin'  me 
to  let  him  out,  and  a  promisin'  to  let  me  off  and  take  Gus 
Elliott  in  my  place.  But  I  allers'  knew  him  for  an  liar, 
and  I  jist  kept  the  key  turned  on  him  till  mornin'.  When 
I  went  to  let  him  out,  about  sunrise,  he  wasn't  there  !  I 
suppose  he'll  be  along  again  at  the  time  appointed;  so  I 
expect  to  have  one  more  '  high,'  and  then  bid  ye  all  fare- 
well." 

He  sank  back,  a  loathsome  object,  upon  his  bench,  amid 
the  rather  curious  applause  of  the  crowd. 

"  Now,  Gus  Elliott,  let's  hear  you." 


266  THE  senator's  son. 

The  second  person  addressed  was  the  youngest  son  of 
one  of  the  finest  families  in  the  State.  His  brothers,  one 
in  the  Navy,  one  in  the  Army,  were  ornaments  to  society, 
and  highly  respected  men.  He  had  sank  so  low  that  they 
could  no  longer  uphold  him,  and  although  still  sharing  a 
corner  of  the  hearth-stone  when  he  chose  to  claim  it,  the 
largest  part  of  his  time  was  spent  upon  the  grog-shop  settle. 
He  had  just  taken  a  glass  of  brandy,  but  was  not  intoxi- 
cated. 

"  Friends !  if  that  law  had  been  passed  twenty  years 
ago,  I  should  have  been  the  richest  man  in  this  State. 
Many  is  the  night  I  have  spent  my  three  hundred  dollars 
on  a  champagne  supper,^'  he  said,  looking  round  as  if  some 
of  those  gentlemen  might  have  shared  his  prodigality  in 
years  gone  by.  "  What  I  am,  and  what  my  brothers  and 
sisters  have  tried  to  make  me,  you  all  know.  All  that  I 
can  say  is,  that  I  wish  it  had  been  passed  before  I  was 
born,  I  wish  it  could  be  passed  this  year  —  it  might  do  for 
others  what  it  is  too  late  to  do  for  me.'^ 

After  closing  his  brief  speech,  he  sauntered  down  the 
~*reet,  trying  to  look  less  miserable  than  he  felt;  his  hat 
Dattered  down,  his  cloth  coat  bearing  the  marks  of  the 
gutter,  and  two  or  three  little  scamps  of  boys  amusing  them- 
selves by  throwing  dust  at  him. 

"  Now,  IMr.  Madison,  will  you  be  as  kind  as  your  com- 
peers and  tell  us  whether  you  are  going  to  vote  for  the 
Maine  Law  ? ''  The  last  of  the  trio  had  eagerly  regarded 
Gus.  Elliott  while  he  spoke.     Something  in  the  similarity 


THE   senator's    SON.  267 

of  their  circumstances  might  haye  attracted  him.  His 
countenance  had  a  pallor  and  ghastliness  unlike  the  bloated  ' 
red  of  his  companions.  He  was  leaning  against  an  awning- 
post  when  they  addressed  him ;  he  straitened  himself  up 
and  advanced  a  step  or  two ;  a  flush  came  into  his  haggard 
cheeks,  and  he  spoke  in  a  clear,  round  tone  which  startled 
them. 

"  I  am  no  longer  fit  to  address  gentlemen ;  but  if  you 
wish  to  know  whether  I  intend  to  vote  for  the  Maine  Law  or 
not,  I  answer  that  if  I  live  to  go  to  the  polls  again,  I  shall 
vote  for  it.  Do  you  want  to  know  my  reasons  ?  I,  too, 
have  spent  my  three  hundred  a  night  on  champagne-suppers 
—  I  say  it  to  my  disgrace  —  not  boastingly.  I  was  in- 
tended to  be  a  pretty  fine  man !  God  gave  me  talent,  an 
eloquent  tongue,  and  a  generous,  afiectionate  heart.  He 
gave  me,  too,  a  christian  mother,  and  a  sister !  —  a  sister 
worthy  of  the  best  man  that  ever  lived.  My  father  be- 
queathed me  wealth  and  a  good  name.  But  he  bequeathed 
me,  too,  that  weakness  which  made  him  ^^  tarry  long  at  the 
wine,"  and  which,  at  last,  led  directly  to  his  murder,  as 
some  of  you  may  have  heard.  Well !  what  has  this  incli- 
nation led  me  into  ?  After  years  of  ambitious  study  it  sent 
me  disgraced  from  college  —  it  led  me  into  all  the  accom- 
panying temptations  of  a  city,  and  destroyed  my  mother^s 
health  with  anxiety  and  sorrow.  Upon  that  beloved  moth- 
er's dying  requirement  I  vowed  to  never  again  taste  wine, 
and  it  led  me  to  break  that  vow.  It  led  me  to  commit  for- 
gery;    and  that  beautiful,  that  angelic  sister  of  whom  I 


268  THE  senator's  son. 

scarcely  dare  speak,  to  save  me  from  a  prison,  made  the  sac- 
rifice I  demanded  of  her,  and  married  the  villain  in  whose 
power  I  was.  I  wooed  and  won  a  noble,  true-hearted  and 
lovely  woman,  and  it  led  me  to  blast  her  happiness,  to  in- 
flict upon  her  poverty,  disgrace,  and  wordless  wretchedness 
—  it  led  me  to  nearly  murder  my  only  and  innocent  little 
daughter;  she  wears  upon  her  once  charming  face  the  scars 
which  tell  of  a  father's  fiendishness.  This  passion  has  made 
a  pauper  of  me ;  it  has  caused  me  to  break  the  most  pow- 
erful chains  that  were  ever  woven  by  the  love  of  friends, 
the  pride  of  position,  the  desire  to  be  a  good  man ;  it  has 
brought  me  days  of  anguish,  such  as  I  pray  God  none  of 
you  may  ever  feel ;  it  has  gnawed  my  heart  out  with  re- 
morse, and  yet  drawn  me  on  with  its  burning  fascination 
into  this  depth  of  degradation.  It  has  killed  my  pride  — 
destroyed  my  intellect  —  hardened  my  heart  —  ruined  my 
soul !  In  my  extreme  youth,  when  I  lifted  the  sparkling 
goblet  to  my  lips,  I  laughed  and  said — '^I  can  take  care 
of  myself!  —  it  is  nobody's  business  but  my  own  ! "  NoWy 
I  would  go  down  on  my  knees  to  the  world  if  it  would 
stretch  out  its  hand  and  save  me.  I  ask  of  the  law,  of  you 
who  make  the  law,  to  save  me  from  this  monster  which 
preys  upon  human  hearts.  Hercules  was  sent  out  to  slay 
the  Namean  lion,  and  to  kill  the  dreaded  boar  of  Eryman- 
thus,  but  what  were  their  ravages  to  that  of  this  passion  for 
strong  drink,  that  such  thousands  of  your  fellow-creatures 
have  to  struggle  with  !  Will  you  aid  them  ?  will  you  send 
out   the   Hercules  of  the   law  to  protect  them  ?    or  shall 


THE  senator's   SON.  2G9 

they  all  perish,  as  I  am  perishing  ?  Heaven  knows  I  have 
fought  until  I  have  fainted  many  times,  and  yet  I  am  a 
victim.  You  may  throw  a  class  of  men  out  of  employment, 
but  if  they  make  their  living  out  of  the  blood  and  tears  of 
the  hearts  of  wives  and  children,  why  should  they  not  aban- 
don the  unholy  work,  and  turn  to  more  righteous  gains  ? 
The  serpents  prey  upon  frogs,  the  frogs  upon  spidersf  the 
spiders  upon  flies,  but  need  man  to  prey  upon  the  weaknesses 
of  his  brothers,  in  order  to  find  food  ?  If  you  throw  this 
grog-shop  across  the  way  out  of  business,  and  in  return  gain 
three  honest,  industrious,  and  peaceable  citizens,  who  are 
now  its  patrons  and  the  pest  of  society,  can  you  answer 
whether  you  gain  or  lose  ?  You  may  say  that  rich  men  can 
procure  their  costly  wines  and  privately  poison  themselves, 
and  teach  their  children  to  do  the  same,  even  if  you  should 
have  this  law.  The  rich  are  not  the  largest  class  of  any 
community ;  and  if  they  refuse  to  be  benefited,  shall  the 
other  classes  all  suffer  for  want  of  that  protection  which 
their  need  demands  ?  When  they  have  sunk  as  low  as  I, 
they  will  not  refuse  this  rope  which  is  thrown  to  keep  them 
from  drowning.  If  every  man  in  this  State,  who  could  not 
pay  five  dollars  for  a  bottle  of  wine  twice  or  thrice  a  week, 
was  to  stand  up  with  steady  hand,  undimmed  eye,  clear 
voice,  and  dignified  demeanor,  before  the  rich,  free  from  all 
marks  of  this  vice,  those  who  now  grow  pompous  over  their 
costly  decanters,  would  be  ashamed  of  the  wine-odor  in 
their  breath  and  its  flush  upon  their  cheek. 

"  Speak  !  gentlemen,  I  cannot  speak  what  I  feel !     My 
23* 


270  THE  senator's  son. 

mother  is  dead  —  my  sister's  heart  is  broken  —  my  wife  has 
gone  from  me  to  struggle  alone  against  poverty  and  woe  — 
my  children  are  afraid  of  me  —  they  tremble  at  the  mention 
of  my  name  —  they  too  are  gone,  and  I  am  left  to  my  fate. 
My  fortune  is  gone  —  my  health  is  gone  —  my  religion,  my 
talents,  my  happiness.  It  is  this  passion  which  has  stolen 
all;  now  that  I  am  weak  and  forlorn,  incapable  of  taking 
care  of  myself,  have  you  not  the  heart  of  humanity  enough 
to  try  to  obtain  for  me  my  rights  ?  I  charge  you  to  do  it ! 
in  the  name  of  a]l  the  misery  I  have  inflicted  and  endured 
—  in  the  name  of  christian  charity  —  in  the  name  of  a 
DYING  SOUL  !  —  will  you  serve  me  ?  Will  you  save  my 
soul  ?  I  know  that  Satan  is  bound  to  obtain  it ;  he  has 
visited  me  as  plainly  as  ever  he  did  the  disordered  fancy  of 
Old  Peter ;  but  if  you  do  your  best  you  may  cheat  him  of 
his  gains.     Will  you  do  it  ?  '^ 

He  stretched  out  his  hands  for  a  moment. 
As  a  lamp  that  has  burned  nearly  out  suddenly  lifts  it- 
self into  temporary  brilliancy,  after  it  is  apparently  extin- 
guished, his  mind  had  once  more  startled  into  life.  The 
gi'oup  regarded  him  with  astonishment.  He  had  not  made 
exactly  that  expression  of  his  sentiments  which  they  antici- 
pated. The  flame  blazed  up  a  moment,  betraying  the  shat- 
tered and  ruined  condition  of  the  lamp,  and  sank  back  into 
darkness.  His  strength  was  overtasked  by  the  sudden  ex- 
citement, and,  as  his  arms  fell  to  his  side,  he  dropped  faint- 
ing to  the  ground.     After  the  little  tumult  attending  his 


THE  senator's  son.  271 

recovery  had  subsided^  tlie  crowd  dispersed,  satisfied  for 
that  day  with  what  they  had  heard  about  the  Maine  Law. 

"  I  wish  that  /  had  a  voice  to  speak  with  or  a  pen  to 
write  with/'  said  Mary  Browning,  with  sudden  energy,  after 
listening  to  her  uncle's  narrative  of  the  above  incidents. 

"  What  would  7/ou  have  to  say,  Miss  Mary  ?  "  asked  he, 
smiling,  as  the  roses  brightened  in  her  already  glowing 
cheeks. 

^'  Well !  I  should  say  — that  —  yoxi  know  I  am  not  ac- 
customed to  public  speaking  !  uncle  —  that  though  I  spake 
with  the  tongue  of  a  denouncing  angel,  from  now  till  the 
day  of  retribution,  I  could  not  depict  all  the  evils  of  the 
liquor  traffic ;  that  though  I  wrote  with  a  pen  inspired 
with  terror  and  winged  with  lightning,  I  could  never  write 
out  the  half  of  its  abominations.  I  should  say  that  a  poor 
and  virtuous  nation  was  more  secure  of  immortality  and 
dignity  than  a  rich  and  wicked  one ;  and  that  if  it  was  go- 
ing to  impoverish  this  country  to  abolish  this  traffic,  it  had 
better  be  honorably  humble,  than  magnificently  wicked; 
and  I  would  refer  my  hearers  to  those  often  quoted  exam- 
ples of  the  cities  of  the  Plain,  of  Babylon,  and  Rome.  But 
I  would  further  affirm,  that  so  far  from  decreasing  agricul- 
tural and  commercial  prosperity,  it  would  increase  both,  just 
as  certain  as  the  wretched  inebriates  who  support  one  rum- 
mery  would  invest  the  money  which  they  there  throw  away 
on  food,  rent,  and  clothing.  I  would  say  that  if  there  are 
ten  thousand  men  supported  in  this  State  by  the  trade,  that 


272 


THE    SENATOR  S    SON. 


thej  are  supported  by  tlie  entire  ruin  of  thirty  thousand, 
and  the  injury  of  three  hundred  thousand.  I  would  ask  if 
that  was  political  economy.  I  would  state  a  very  simple 
proposition,  and  let  them  multiply  the  answer  by  as  many 
drunkards  as  there  are  in  these  United  States.  If  a  man 
instead  of  eating  twelve  bushels  of  grain,  drinks  eight  and 
eats  four,  will  the  farmer  have  any  larger  market  for  his 
produce  ?  —  and  by  the  loathing  of  food  which  liquor  pro- 
duces, the  wasting  of  strength,  and  the  shortening  of  life, 
will  he  not  lose  ten  years  of  that  man's  custom  ?  while  the 
producers  of  clothing  lose  almost  entirely  his  support,  his 
employers  lose  what  might  be  a  profitable  workman,  and  the 
man  himself,  and  those  whom  he  would  have  benefited  by 
it  in  honest  exchanges,  loses  almost  the  whole  of  that  com- 
fortable income  which  his  wasted  strength  and  industry 
would  have  achieved  !  The  farmer  sells  ten  dollars'  worth 
of  grain ;  to  support  the  distiller  and  rumseller,  both  need- 
less and  useless  members  of  society,  the  consumer  pays 
thirty  for  it  —  the  thirty  dollars  is  all  that  he  could  earn 
under  the  influence  of  the  distilled  grain,  where  he  would 
otherwise  have  earned  ninety  —  the  hatter,  and  shoemaker, 
and  landlord,  and  merchant  are  robbed  of  sixty  —  and  the 
many  lose  that  the  few  may  gain.  Then  there  is  another 
loss  in  the  diminished  demands  of  his  starving  and  naked 
family ;  another  in  his  requiring  a  police-ofiicer  or  sherifi" 
to  attend  to  him,  a  prison  or  workhouse  to  put  him  in  —  a 
coffin  and  six  feet  of  earth,  at  the  expense  of  the  communitj-. 
"Another  loss  in  his  premature  death.     So  much  for  the  po- 


THE  senator's   SON.  273 

litical  economy.  Of  some  other  losses  I  miglit  not  have  the 
courage  to  speak ;  the  loss  of  health,  of  peace  of  mind,  of 
reason,  of  friends,  of  domestic  prosperity,  and  the  loss  of 
future  happiness.  I  am  afraid  my  woman's  voice  would 
fail  if  it  touched  upon  such  losses.  Perhaps  I  should  re- 
gain my  courage,  however,  if  I  had  little  Carrie  Madison  by 
my  side,  and  could  hold  up  her  injured  form  in  my  arms 
and  point  to  the  cruel  proceeds  of  a  shilling's  worth  of 
whiskey." 

'^  Of  course  —  of  course  —  you  women  try  to  prove  eve- 
rything by  an  appeal  to  our  sympathies. '^ 

^^  Well,  what  better  part  of  you  is  there  to  appeal  to  ? 
Reason,  of  which  you  men  are  so  boastful,  forever  and  for- 
ever runs  away  with  itself  unless  restrained  and  directed  by 
the  heart.  Take  those  greatest  and  most  subtle  reasons, 
and  let  them  run  the  rounds  of  then*  mighty  intellects,  and 
to  what  have  many  of  the  most  brilliant  returned  ?  —  to  a 
lower  point  than  the  humblest  heart  could  ever  fall  to  —  to 
a  belief  in  their  own  brutishness  and  materiality. 

"  Pooh  !  my  dear  niece,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"  I  hardly  know,  uncle,"  replied  Mary,  a  little  confused. 
"  But  is  it  not  a  principle  in  all  good  governments  to  adopt 
those  measures  which  will  secure  the  greatest  good  to  the 
most  people  ?  You  know  that  the  Maine  Liquor  Law,  or 
Dven  a  more  stringent  one,  would  do  this.  I  tell  you  what 
it  is,  dear  uncle,  there  are  a  latge  class  of  people  demand 
this  law,  who  have  yet  no  voice  in  the  matter.  They  are 
the  wives,  sisters,  mothers,  and  daughters  of  those  who  sup- 


274  THE  senator's  son. 

port  the  distillers  and  rumsellers.  Not  fhat  I  wish  women 
to  go  to  the  polls/'  with  another  blush,  as  she  saw  Dr. 
Browning  opening  his  eyes ;  "  but  if  every  man,  this  com- 
ing autumn,  would  ask  the  female  portion  of  his  house  who 
to  vote  for,  those  men  would  be  elected  who  would  not  fail 
to  give  us  this  law." 

"  A  pretty  way  that  would  be  to  place  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment in  the  hands  of  women  !  — 

*'  We'll  even  let  them  hold  the  reins, 
But  we'll  show  them  the  way  to  go ! " 

''  Oh,  you  ladies  are  so  crafty  and  so  ambitious  that  I 
should  not  be  surprised  to  see  some  one  of  you  stealing  her 
way  into  the  Presidential  Chair  before  ten  years.  In  that 
case,  farewell  to  Liberty  and  the  American  Eagle  !  the  chair 
would  become  a  throne  in  less  than  three  weeks,  and  there 
would  be  an  end  of  our  '  glorious  Republic'  Of  all  tyrants, 
women  are  the  worst !  no  more  to  be  trusted  with  power 
than  a  child  with  a  candle  in  a  barrel  of  tow  ! " 

"  For  shame,  Uncle  Browning !  that  sentiment  is  not 
original,  I  know.  You  have  caught  it  out  of  some  crabbed 
book,  and  you  don't  believe  it  yourself.  However,  if  you 
wish  77ie  to  play  the  tyrant,  I  will  begin  now  and  exercise 
my  power  over  your  favorite  —  that  talented,  promising 
young  student  of  yours  —  and  not  one  word  of  encourage- 
ment shall  he  ever  receive  from  me,  unless  he  approves  of, 
and  gives  his  influence  to,  securing  for  our  State  the  Maine 
Law." 


THE   senator's   SON.  275 

'^  In  that  state  of  afliiirs,  I  should  like  to  know  who 
would  do  the  voting  ?  for  his  views  lead  him  just  the  other 
way ;  and  if  he  is  weak  enough  to  "become  your  waiter,  to 
carry  your  vote  to  the  polls,  then  I  shall  no  longer  extend 
to  him  my  approval.  Ha  !  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  that  you 
were  slily  working  to  get  the  reins  into  your  own  hands  V 

^'  Mrs.  Browning,  I  do  wish  you  had  educated  my  good 
uncle  to  be  a  little  more  sensible  !  I  do  not  care  who  votes, 
nor  for  what  men,  nor  who  induced  them,  only  that  we  get 
absolved  from  this  terrible  liquor-traffic.  There  is  where  I 
have  set  my  foot  down,  and  I  have  a  thousand  excellent 
reasons  for  keeping  it  there. 

"  And  yet  reason  has  a  tendency  to " 

"  From  what  I  have  observed  of  your  student's  convi- 
vial inclinations,  there  may  yet  come  a  time  when  he  will 
gladly  wear  the  ^arbitrary'  chain  of  this  law,  and  I  am 
going  to  compel  him  to  forge  one  of  the  rivets  himself. 
You,  aunt,  can  do  as  much  for  your  struggling  and  ill- 
disposed  partner,  and  will  have  them  both  under  wholesome 
restrictions, 

"  I  wonder  if  you  don't  think  we  need  restriction," 
spoke  up  the  good  Doctor,  a  little  tartly,  for  he  never  drank 
anything  but  his  cherry-bounce  in  the  morning,  his  currant 
wine  for  dinner,  and  something  warm,  in  the  shape  of  a 
punch  or  hot  toddy,  before  going  to  bed. 

"  No,"  said  Mary,  lightly  touching  her  pretty  finger  to 
her  uncle's  ruddy  nose;  "  not  until  this  is  twice  as  rosy  as 
it  is  at  present,  will  we  make  any  complaint  against  you." 


276 


THE    SENATOR  .S    FON. 


The  Doctor  was  very  sensitive  about  the  peculiar  glow 
upon  his  nose ;  he  could  not  imagine  why  it  should  be  red- 
der than  the  noses  of  other  people  wbo  took  their  brandj- 
and-water  daily,  whereas  he  only  took  cherry-bounce  ',  start- 
ing after  his  mischievous  nieeOj  he  caught  her  and  pinched 
both  her  cheeks.  The  effect  was  to  make  her  look  prettier 
than  ever ;  but  being  tired  of  her  attempts  at  '  public- 
speaking/  she  sat  down  demurely  to  a  paper.  Suddenly 
she  lifted  up  her  head,  — 

"  Here  is  something  in  point  of  fact,  uncle.  Not  a  bit 
of'  romance  : 

"  '  If  England  would  sign  the  temperance-pledge,  and 
devote  all  the  money  now  spent  in  intoxicating  drinks  to  its 
liquidation,  she  could  pay  her  debt  of  four  billions  of  dol- 
lars in  fourteen  years.  What  a  fact !  And  we  have  calcu- 
lated nothing  but  the  mere  money  spent ;  not  the  waste  of 
time,  labor,  strength,  health,  and  life.' 

''  Now  if  the  temperance-pledge  would  do  so  muck  for 
that  little  island,  what  would  not  the  Maine  Law  do  for 
these  United  States?  And  when  we  add  to  the  saving  of 
money,  the  saving  of  tears,  of  broken  hearts,  of  midnight 
watching,  of  neglected  children  growing  up  to  ruin,  of 
wasted  happiness,  of  lost  souls,  what  a  saving  is  that !  Ah, 
Uncle  Browning,  what  economy  is  there  !  political,  domes- 
tic, religious  economy  !  I  declare,"  here  she  threw  aside 
her  paper  and  started  to  her  feet,  "  I  am  going  to  lecture 
on  this  subject.  It  is  getting  fashionable  for  ladies  to  lec- 
ture •  and  I  have  -/hoseu  my  theme.     I  can't  keep  still  any 


THE    SENATOR  S    SON. 


277 


longer  —  my  heart  and  conscience  won't  let  me!  I  would 
write  a  book  were  it  not  for  three  reasons.  Firstly,  I  can- 
not ;  secondly,  no  one  will  publish  it  after  it  is  written ; 
thirdly,  no  one  will  read  it  after  it  is  published.  But  a  lec- 
ture !  people  will  come  to  hear  a  woman  speak  when  she  is 
as  young  and  as  beautiful  as  I.  (Quoted,  uncle,  quoted 
from  that  truly  reliable  source,  the  young  medical  student). 
So  you  must  have  the  advertisement  in  the  next  number  of 

tlie  A Republican ;  for  I  shall  commence  in  this  vil- 

lao-e,  and  from  thence  my  eloquence  shall  diverge  in  widen- 
ing circles  until  bounded  by  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific." 

^'  It  would  not  be  for  the  want  of  a  '  gift  of  tongues/ 
if  you  did  not  succeed.  About  the  advertisement  —  we 
^in  see  —  we  will  see  !  we  will  have  to  consult  our  younger 
partner  about  that.'^ 

So  saying.  Dr.  Browning  composed  himself  for  a  siesta 
upon  the  settee,  which  occupied  a  cool  place  on  the  back 
portico. 

It  is  improbable  that  his  niece.  Miss  Mary  Browning, 
carried  her  sudden  resolution  into  practice;  though  she 
would  fain  have  studied  out  some  method  by  which  she 
could  have  made  her  enthusiasm  felt  on  more  hearts  than 
those  of  her  worthy  uncle  and  his  gay  protagee. 

One    or   two  of   her  youthful   opinions,   having   been 
f  shaken  like  unripe  fruit  into  this  book,  may  be  gathered 
up  a  moment  and  cast  down  again;   but  no  wider  range 
will  ever  chance  to  her  ambition,  notwithstanding  that  allu- 
sion to  the  two  great  oceans  which  bound  our  continent. 
24 


278  THE  senator's  son. 

To  her  honor  and  wisdom  be  it  said;  however,  that  the 
medical  student,  whose  predelictions  for  the  doctor's  cherry- 
bounce  had  prevented  her  giving  any  decided  encourage- 
ment to  his  otherwise  pleasing  attachment,  was  converted  to 
her  v>-ay  of  thinking  before  autumn,  and  became  willing  to 
resign  his  own  especial  inclinations  for  the  general  good ;  so 
that  at  the  polls,  his  voice  was  heard,  not  for  men  against 
measures,  but  for  "  men  and  measures." 

In  the  meantime,  Parke  Madison,  while  Dr.  Browning 
reposed  in  comfort  upon  his  settee,  reclined  also  upon  a  set- 
tee, seeking  his  afternoon's  repose.  .  His  couch  was  the 
lounger's  bench  before  the  grog-shop,  which  stood  opposite 
to  the  liberty-pole,  from  which  floated  the  newly-made  ban- 
ner. It  was  not  as  cool  as  the  doctor's  portico,  for  the  sun 
shone  down  upon  his  face,  but  poorly  protected  by  a  rimless 
hat  of  straw.  An  awning  would  have  made  too  comfortable 
a  refuge  for  his  customers,  and  taken  from  the  respectable 
look  of  the  place  by  encouraging  loungers,  and  so  Mr.  Kin- 
ney had  no  awning  before  his  shop.  The  August  sun  beat, 
therefore,  upon  the  inebriate's  face  and  head  in  cruel  power. 
When  he  had  recovered  from  his  fainting-fit,  nothing  but  a 
glass  of  brandy  could  restore  him  to  his  feet  or  overcome 
the  trembling  of  his  limbs.  Mr.  Kinney,  to  whose  tender 
mercy  he  was  left,  furnished  him  with  the  restorative  for 
which  he  pleaded.  When  he  had  drank  it,  he  crept  out 
and  stretched  himself  upon  the  bench.  His  blood-shot 
eyes,  shaded  somewhat  by  the  rimless  hat,  were  fixed  upon 
the  blue  and  white  folds  of  that  graceful  flag.     His  mind 


THE  senator's  SON.  279 

was  confused,  his  memory  was  gone ;  but  an  idea,  vague, 
phantom-like,  dim,  swam  in  his  brain,  that  that  banner  was 
the  precursor  and  proclamation  of  some  great  good  that  was 
coming  to  him.  He  would  fall  partially  asleep ;  the  heat 
would  waken  him,  or  the  flies,  or  the  step  of  a  passer-by, 
and  his  gaze  would  rest  upon  the  flag,  following  its  undula- 
tions with  dull  dreaminess  in  which  there  was  the  shadow 
of  a  speculation.  What  good  it  was  going  to  achieve  for 
him  he  did  not  know.  Whether  it  was  going  to  bring  his 
wife  back,  with  some  angelic  power,  to  restore  him  to  his  old 
prosperity ;  whether,  it  was  the  spirit  of  little  Carrie  hover- 
ing there  on  blue  and  white  wings  to  bear  him  up  and  show 
him  the  forgotten  way  to  his  mother,  he  could  not  think. 
Once,  opening  his  eyes  upon  it  suddenly,  he  thought  that 
his  mother  was  leaning  out  of  heaven  with  the  banner  in 
her  hand,  waving  it  gently  to  and  fro.  Presently  he  fell 
into  so  heavy  a  slumber  that  passing  objects  no  longer 
aroused  him.  The  hot  sun  had  retreated  from  the  sky,  and 
the  calm  moon  was  shining  in  his  place  when  the  inebriate 
awoke  again.  He  awoke  with  a  cry.  He  felt  a  huge  ser- 
pent creeping  and  crawling  over  his  breast ;  he  put  his  hand 
there  and  tried  to  thrust  it  ofi",  but  it  would  not  go.  He 
endeavored  to  fling  it  away,  but  it  writhed  and  twisted  itself 
around  his  hand  in  slimy  folds,  while  its  fiery  tongue  pricked 
him  in  his  breast  a  dozen  times.  With  another  cry  and  a 
furious  effort,  he  plucked  at  the  noisome  thing.  A  hiss  was 
the  only  answer,  so  loud,  so  threatening,  that  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  in  terror.     His  eyes  fell  upon  the  banner,  hanging 


280  THE   senator's   SON. 

against  the  sweet,  blue  sky,  the  moon  just  shining  over  its 
softly-fluttering  edge.  He  fell  upon  his  knees  and  raised 
his  hands ;  the  serpent  glided  down  his  limbs  and  ran  away. 
It  came  back  no  more  that  night;  but  the  unhappy  man's 
nerves  were  too  keenly  awake  for  him  to  slumber  again. 
He  crossed  the  street,  and  leaning  up  against  the  liberty- 
pole,  watched  its  long,  slender  shadow  down  the  street,  and 
listened  to  the  sighing,  fluttering  spirit  in  the  folds  that 
rustled  above  his  head. 

"  It  is  Lucy's  voice,"  he  whispered  tremblingly;  "  she  is 
charming  the  serpents,  to  keep  them  from  stinging  me. 
She  was  always  kind  —  but  why  is  she  'way  up  there  be- 
side the  moon  ?  —  perhaps  she  is  afraid  of  that  reptile  — 
ugh  !  how  cold,  how  horrible  it  felt.'' 

The  moon  sank  behind  the  horizon ;  poor  Parke  sank 
too,  to  the  friendly  ground  at  last,  pillowing  his  swimming 
head  upon  the  soft,  fat  side  of  a  kind  old  porker,  which  an- 
imal is  not  denied  street-room  in  the  most  of  our  western 
villages. 

From  that  time  forward  there  grew  upon  his  side  a 
strong  attachment,  if  it  may  be  so  called,  for  that  banner 
which  waved  its  azure  folds  against  an  azure  sky.  He  had 
a  dim  perception  that  it  hung  there  for  his  benefit  —  Jiim 
whom  nobody  in  the  world  cared  for  except  to  misuse,  who 
slept  with  swine,  who  had  no  father,  mother,  wife,  sister, 
child,  or  friend.  In  his  most  lucid  moments  he  understood 
its  meaning ;  how  it  could  advance  his  good,  what  princi- 
ples it  advocated,  in  what  manner  its  friends  might  save 


THE    senator's   SON.  281 

liim.  But  the  most  of  the  time,  unsubstantial  fancies 
thronged  his  disordered  intellect;  the  banner  became,  by 
turns,  his  old-time  companions,  one  or  another  to  whom  he 
muttered  unmeaning  jargon,  on  Kinney  extending  a  glass 
of  champagne,  inviting  him  to  drink  and  be  merry.  His 
favorite  seat  and  couch  was  the  bench  upon  which  he  could 
recline  and  follow  those  playful  folds  with  his  half-idiotic 
gaze. 

Oh  !  most  wretched,  most  forlorn  of  lives  !  what  fate  is 
there  so  wholly  miserable  as  that  of  the  inebriate  when  he 
is  wearing  out  the  last  few  months  or  years  of  his  life,  for- 
saken by  heaven  and  earth,  tormented  with  glimpses  of 
that  punishment  which  is  to  overtake  him  at  the  close  of 
time  ?  Leaning  above  my  paper,  with  the  pen  dropping 
idly  from  my  hand,  I  have  fallen  into  a  reverie  over  the  fate 
of  Parke  Madison,  who  has  thus  become  a  victim  to  an 
inherited  passion  which  has  taken  from  him  all  and  be- 
stowed upon  him  nothing.  I  see  that  a  mother  and  sister 
have  done  all  for  him  that  they  could  do  —  I  see  that  his 
wife  was  compelled  to  leave  him  by  a  higher  duty  than 
prompted  her  to  remain  —  I  see  that  society  has  abandoned 
him  —  that  he  is  left  alone  with  the  robber.  I  see  that  the 
robber  has  taken  already  everything  but  the  base  remains 
of  a  base  life ;  but  while  there  is  life,  there  is  hope.  Hope 
is  calling  in  piercing  tones  upon  the  law  to  rush  to  the  res- 
cue of  the  dying;  to  chain  and  throw  into  prison,  aye,  and 
execute  this  highwayman,  who  has  cast  his  dead  victims  by 
every  road-side  in  the  land. 
24* 


282  THE  senator's  son 

Election  day  came,  Parke  understood  that  an  effort 
would  be  made  to  place  such  men  in  power  as  would  give 
him  and  others  the  protection  they  demanded.  He  endeav- 
ored to  keep  his  senses  enough  about  him  to  vote  for  these 
men.  But  his  friend  Kinney  had  motives  and  designs  the 
opposite ;  he  did  not  begrudge  a  few  gksses  of  whiskey,  if 
it  would  make  one  vote  the  smaller  the  chance  of  interrup- 
tion to  his  profitable  employment.  Parke  was  not  the 
only  poor  fool  to  whom,  that  day,  he  proved  himself  gen- 
erous ;  nor  his  the  only  vote  he  secured  by  this  dishonest 
means. 

The  Maine  Law  banner  hung  at  half-mast,  mourning 
for  the  defeat  of  those  who  would  have  waved  it  high  and 
broad  in  triumph  across  the  State.  Parke  lounged  upon  his 
bench,  staring  drearily  at  its  drooping  lengths.  A  chilly 
rain  began  to  gather  out  of  mist,  and,  dropping  slowly  from 
the  gray  sky,  saturated  the  soiled  folds  till  they  clung  for- 
lornly to  the  staff.  It  saturated  Parke's  shabby  clothing 
also  —  it  chilled  him  to  the  heart.  Dreary,  desolate,  shiv- 
ering, miserable,  he  arose,  and  with  one  despairing  glance  at 
the  lowered  flag,  he  turned  into  the  grog-shop,  muttering  — 

"  They  won't  do  anything  for  me,  this  year,  and  next 
it'll  be  too  late.  I've  given  up  doing  anything  to  save  my- 
self long  ago,  and  now  I'll  not  wait  any  longer.  I'm  all  in 
a  shiver  —  I  can't  live  without  whiskey;  its  the  only  com- 
fort there  is  left,  and  I  don't  see,  after  all,  what  they  wanted 
to  take  it  away  for.  How  could  I  get  warm  if  it  was  not 
for  whiskey,  when   I've  no  fire  of  my  own,  and  Kinney's 


THE   senator's   SON.  283 

always  driving  me  away  from  his  of  niglits  ?  I  sliall  never 
Btop  again.  I  sliall  take  all  I  can  get,  and  wlien  I  can't  get 
it,  the  old  fellow  will  be  after  me." 

His  bottle  was  filled  with  liquor ;    he  took  it  and  wan- 
dered forth,  filled  with  a  momentarv  pleasure. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

A  LADY  came  up  in  the  omnibus  from  ih<;  cars  one 

bleak  November  evening,  and  stopped  at  a  hotel  in  A . 

The  best  private  parlor  was  placed  at  her  disposal,  and  tea 
was  served  attentively  in  her  room ;  for  there  was  that  in 
her  appearance  which  demanded  respectful  consideration. 
She  was  young  and  beautiful ;  but  her  beauty  was  of  a  rare 
and  touching  kind,  such  as  emanates  from  the  spirit  and  is 
diffused  over  a  fragile  form  for  a  little  while  before  the 
earth  closes  over  it  and  it  is  no  more.  A  pair  of  large,  lu- 
minous hazel  eyes  lighted  up  a  pale  face  with  a  soft,  smile- 
less,  melancholy  lustre,  giving  it  so  sad  and  lovely  an  ex- 
pression that  the  maid  who  brought  up  the  tea  lingered  at 
the  door,  server  in  hand,  lost  in  a  maze  of  wonder.  So  fair 
an  apparition  had  never  brightened  that  dull  parlor  before ; 
an  apparition  she  almost  seemed,  so  shadowy  and  yet  beam- 
ing were  her  looks.  The  lady  leaned  back  in  her  chair  as 
if  very  much  fatigued ;  she  had  just  tasted  the  tea  and  toast 
which  were  brought  up. 


THE   senator's   SON.  285 

"  Is  tliere  nothing  else  you'll  be  pleased  to  have, 
Ma'am?'' 

^^  Nothing  at  present  j  except  you  may  ask  the  landlord 
if  he  will  be  so  good  as  to  come  up  here  for  a  moment." 

The  girl  disappeared;  in  a  short  time  the  proprietor 
stood  bowing  before  the  stranger.  She  motioned  him  to 
take  a  seat,  and  struggled  a  moment  with  some  emotion  be- 
fore she  spoke.  As  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  fire,  a  hectic 
flush  stole  through  the  transparent  whiteness  of  her  cheeks. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  a  person  by  the  name  of 
Parke  Madison  ?  "  she  asked,  after  he  had  taken  a  chair. 

He  started  at  her  inquiry,  looking  at  her  close.  This 
was  not  Mr.  Madison's  wife,  though ;  for  he  had  seen  her 
several  times  —  was  it  a  sister  ?  who  ?  what  ? 

^^  Yes,  Madam,  I  have  seen  Mr.  Madison  nearly  every 
day  for  the  last  two  years." 

"  I  am  his  sister,  Mrs.  Clyde.     I  have  come  to  A 

on  purpose  to  visit  him.  Can  you  tell  me  where  he  can  be 
found?" 

The  gentleman  hesitated,  giving  a  nervous  hitch  to  his 
chair. 

^'  He  is  in  this  house,"  he  replied,  presently. 

"  Will  you  ask  him  to  come  in  and  see  me  ?  " 

"  He  will  not  be  able  to  do  so  to-night.  Madam.  The 
truth  is,  he  is  ill  —  very  ill." 

^<  Then  I  must  go  and  see  him,  I  have  come  just  in 
time  to  be  his  nurse." 

"Indeed,  Mrs.  Clyde,  he  is  in  the  best  hands,  now. 


286  THE  senator's  son. 

You  had  not  better  think  of  seeing  him  to-night  —  you  ar 
tired." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  must.     What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?" 

The  landlord  gave  another  twitch  to  his  chair. 

"Fever  —  dangerous  kind.  He  would  not  recognize 
you,  Madam,  if  you  should  go  to  him,  and  at  present  he  is 
so  raving  that  it  might  be  unpleasant  for  you.  You  seem 
too  delicate  to  endure  much.  After  a  night's  rest  you  will 
have  more  nerve." 

"  I  know  what  is  the  matter  with  him/'  she  continued 
with  a  slight  shiver  —  "do  I  not ? " 

He  bowed  a  silent  reply  in  answer  to  those  melancholy 
eyes. 

"  Has  he  been  sick  long  ?  is  there  any  hope  of  his  get 
ting  well  ?  " 

"  But  litttle,  I  am  afraid.  He  was  brought  here  this 
afternoon  by  some  benevolent  gentlemen,  who  promised  to 
see  to  the  necessary  expenses.  I  do  not  care  for  that ;  but 
he  will  disturb  my  guests  some,  I  apprehend.  However,  I 
am  glad  he  is  here.  We  will  do  all  for  him  that  can  be 
done." 

"Thank  you  —  thank  you.  You  will  be  repaid  here 
and  hereafter.  I  must  go  to  him,"  rising  from  her  chair, 
"  perhaps  I  can  soothe  him,  or  recall  him  from  his  delirium 
by  the  sound  of  my  voice." 

"Indeed,  Madam,  Mrs.  Clyde,  you  have  no  idea  —  it 
will  be  too  trying.  It  is  enough  to  make  m?/  blood  run 
cold,  and  I  fancy  that  I  have  pretty  strong " 


THE    senator's    SON.  287 

A  slirill  scream,  rising  from  a  distant  room,  interrupted 
him.  Alice  sprang  into  the  ball;  before  that  shriek  of 
agony  had  died  in  prolonged  echoes  through  the  house,  she 
stood  at  the  door  of  the  chamber  from  which  it  emanated. 
Opening  it  she  passed  in.  Her  brother,  at  that  moment, 
was  lying  quiet  upon  the  bed,  as  if  exhausted  by  the  passion 
of  mortal  terror  which  had  given  rise  to  that  loud  cry.  It 
was  only  a  moment  that  his  disease  would  allow  him  rest. 
Turning  his  eyes  to  the  door  at  the  slight  noise  made  by 
closing  it,  they  dilated  with  icy  and  staring  horror,  his  teeth 
chattered,  the  hair  rose  bristling  upon  his  head ;  pointing 
his  finger  at  Alice,  he  spoke  — 

"  It  has  come  back  !  oh,  my  God  !  it  has  come  back  1 " 

So  shivering  was  the  sound,  so  dreadful  the  look,  that 
the  intruder  dropped  fainting  into  a  chair.  Three  or  four 
gentlemen  were  in  attendance ;  one  of  them.  Dr.  Browning, 
advanced  to  her  side. 

^<  In  heaven's  name.  Madam,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

''He  is  my  brother,^'  sobbed  she,  recovering  herself 
with  difficulty.     "  I  promised  never  to  forsake  him.'^ 

"■  You  can  be  of  no  service  to  him  here,  dear  lady;  you 
had  better  retire ;  a  few  hours  will  close  his  sufferings.'^ 

''  And  he  will  die  in  such  a  state  \"  —  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands  —  ''oh,  mother,  intercede  with  Christ  for 
him!" 

The  Doctor  lifted  her  gently  from  her  seat  and  carried 

lior  liilO   iliC  hull. 

"  Should  he  have  a  lucid  interval  I  will  certainly  call 


288  THE  senator's  son. 

you;  but  I  cannot  permit  you  to  remain  here/^  he  said, 
and  returning,  lie  bolted  the  door. 

"  Doctor  ! "  whispered  his  patient. 

^'  What  is  it,  my  dear  Sir,''  he  asked,  as  he  approached 
the  bed. 

'^  Do  mad  dogs  always  foam  at  the  mouth  so,  just  be- 
fore they  spring  ? "  he  pointed  to  a  chair  which  stood  in  a 
corner. 

The  physician  looked  around  involuntarily,  as  if  he  ex- 
pected to  behold  the  dreaded  animal  upon  which  that  fixed 
and  fascinated  gaze  was  riveted. 

^'  There  is  no  dog  there,"  he  said  decidedly,  recovering 
himself. 

^' Yes  there  is,  there  —  yes!  hear  him  snarl  and  snap 
—  now  !  —  here  he  comes  —  keep  him  off !  Doctor !  keep 
him  off!" 

He  struggled  with  the  bed  clothes  desperately,  until 
his  strength  was  once  more  gone. 

^^  Why  didn't  you  turn  him  out?"  he  queried  in  a 
faint  voice;  "  or  at  least  let  me  have  my  pistols  —  I  could 
have  finished  him  with  one  of  them,  without  getting  half 
eaten  up  in  this  manner.  Look  at  my  arm  !  there  isn't  an 
ounce  of  flesh  left  on  it  —  but  I  strangled  him  —  the  cursed 
cur!  —  I  strangled  him.  He's  dead  —  he's  dead  —  he's 
dead!" 

Suddenly  his  roving  eyes  were  arrested  and  fixed  upon 
the  wall  with  a  look  of  such  inconceivable  fear  and  despair 
that  every  one  in  the  room  turned  theirs  in  the  same  dii-ec- 


THE    senator's    SON.  289 

tion;  theij  beheld  only  the  blank  white  wall,  but  what 
shape  of  horror  he  beheld,  their  frightened  fancy  dared  not 
devise.  It  was  enough  reflected  in  his  countenance  —  rage 
contending  with  an  agony  of  terror, 

^'  It  was  Satan's  dog  that  I  strangled/'  he  shrieked. 
^^  He's  here  to  threaten  me  about  it.  Hell  and  all  the  fu- 
ries !  what  do  you  stand  there  grinning  for?" 

He  seized  a  candle-stick  which  chanced  to  be  on  a  stand 
at  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  hurled  it  at  the  inoJQTensive  wall. 
His  companions  wanted  no  more  definite  idea  of  the  ex- 
pression of  the  ruined  angel  than  was  stereotyped  in  his 
stony  face,  while  he  glared  defiance  at  the  foe. 

It  seemed  that  the  missile  did  not  overthrow  his  adver- 
sary, for  the  next  moment  he  recommenced  his  struggles 
and  began  a  succession  of  those  long  and  quivering  screams 
whose  unearthly  anguish  curdled  the  blood  of  the  remotest 
listener. 

Alice  heard  them,  as  she  paced  with  restless  steps  her 
apartment.  The  hotel-keeper's  wife,  who  had  kindly  volun- 
teered to  stay  with  her,  shuddered,  and  placed  her  fingers  in 
her  ears.  Alice  threw  herself  prone  upon  the  floor.  The  next 
instant  she  started  to  her  feet.  Her  quick  ear  had  detected 
another  sound.  She  rushed  to  the  window  —  threw  it  up 
—  and  looked  down.  A  dark  mass,  dimly  revealed  in  the 
starlight,  lay  upon  the  pavement,  beneath  the  window  of 
her  brother's  room :  two  or  three  heads  were  thrust  from 
that  window,  also  looking  down,  and  she  heard  exclamations 
of  terror.  She  turned  away  and  ran  into  the  hall  —  down 
25 


290  THE  senator's  son. 

the  broad  stair-case  —  out  tlie  door  —  and  fell  with  a  cry 
beside  that  quivering  but  lifeless  heap. 

She  was  the  fii'st  to  reach  the  spot.  They  raised  her 
from  the  dead  body  of  her  brother  and  bore  her  back  to 
her  room.  She  was  indeed  faithful  to  the  last.  If  a  sis- 
ter's love  could  have  redeemed  an  erring  man  from  ruin, 
Parke  Madison  would  not  have  died  the  drunkard's  death. 

The  law  refused  to  aid  him  in  his  great  extremity  — 
the  last  refuge  of  the  lost  was  denied  him  —  in  what  should 
have  been  the  pride  and  vigor  of  manhood  he  fell,  and  was 
overcome  by  the  Destroyer. 

Alice  was  the  only  mourner  at  his  funeral.  A  grave 
she  gave  him  in  a  pleasant  place,  and  a  stone  to  bear  his 
dishonored  yet  beloved  name. 

Poor  child !  her  own  grave  is  ready  for  the  marble  now. 
The  sods  lie  fresh  and  chill  upon  it  —  the  first  light  snow 
has  covered  it  with  a  cold,  fair  drift.  The  most  tender 
heart,  the  most  beautiful  form,  lie  fading  in  the  coffin  upon 
which  the  mourner's  tears  are  scarcely  yet  dry.  The  pale 
and  peerless  dove  has  folded  her  wings  over  a  breast  that 
grew  cold  and  colder  under  the  pressure  of  earth's  bitter 
cares ;  that  voice  which  was  the  sweetest  in  mortal  choirs 
has  gained  a  more  inspired  sweetness  in  the  land  to  which 
she  has  flown. 

Alfred  Clyde,  having  spent  the  most  of  his  princely  for- 
tune in  brilliant  extravagancies,  infests  our  southern  cities, 
living  splendidly  upon  the  weakness  and  inexperience  of  tho^e 
rich  young  men  whom  he  can  tempt  to  the  gambling-table. 


THE    senator's    SON.  291 

Lucy  Madison  has  found  a  refuge  for  herself  and  chil- 
dren in  her  mother's  home.  By  industrious  application  to 
her  art,  she  will  obtain  for  them  a  comfortable  living ;  and 
she  has  friends  who  will  see  to  the  education  of  her  boy. 
Sad  and  resigned,  in  widow^s  weeds,  she  moves  about;  that 
placid  and  noble  expression  which  always  characterized 
her,  receiving  a  yet  higher  beauty  from  the  touch  of  pa- 
tience and  sorrow. 

Even  if  lightened  by  christian  faith  and  sweetened  by 
resignation,  her  future  life  will  be  one  that  claims  sympathy 
—  left  lonely,  poor,  and  unprotected  in  the  summer  and 
bloom  of  her  youth,  with  two  helpless  little  ones  to  cherish 
and  provide  for. 

But  what  a  joy  and  comfort  are  these  little  ones;  Car- 
rie is  a  gay  and  affectionate  child,  the  sunshine  and  music 
of  the  house.  The  marks  of  the  sad  accident  which  so 
nearly  disfigured  her  for  life  are  fading  out,  as  its  memory 
has  already  vanished  from  her  happy  mind. 

As  for  the  boy,  he  is  as  promising  as  a  boy  of  eighteen 
months  dares  to  be ;  but  if  he  should  grow  up  with  the  in- 
clinations which  ruined  his  father,  we  have  only  to  pray 
that,  before  lie  reaches  the  dangers  of  manhood,  the  law 
will  have  woven  about  him  a  protection  too  arbitrary  for 
him  to  loosen.  So  prays  his  mother  nightly  as  she  lays 
him  in  his  crib  and  joins  his  tiny  hands  together  while  she 
makes  her  mute  appeal. 


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